#igor x reader

“Yep, just like that. What’s your name?” You ask, leaning down on the bar and you’re surprised when he maintains eye contact, not even trying to sneak a peek at your cleavage. 

“Igor,” he replies, his accent thick as he introduces himself. 

“Igor,” you repeat and he hates the way he melts at hearing you say it. It sounds so much better coming from your mouth. “I like that. Where are you from?”

“Armenia,” he replies before taking a sip from his beer and you nod. You begin to wipe down glasses and he’s becoming disappointed that this might be the end of your journey together. He just likes your company. You’re easy to talk to and you don’t get onto him about being a man of a few words. You go at his pace like no one else seems to want to do and he really appreciates that. 

“I’ve never been there,” you reply and that makes sense to him. It’s a country that most people don’t even think about. “But I’ve always wanted to.” His face lights up at your words and he doesn’t even care if he looks silly. It’s like you’re saying all the right things to make him feel like he finally has a friend. 

“My mom is actually Armenian. Was,” You correct yourself. “She was. Sorry, she passed away last year and this is all still new to me. We were supposed to go this fall. I still have my ticket, but I’m too afraid to go by myself. Sorry,” you shake your head, suddenly realizing who you’re talking to. “This isn’t your problem.” 

You’re now wiping down the counter and he’s trying his best to scarf down his meal so he can get out of your hair as he holds up his plate so you can wipe down right there. You laugh at him holding his plate under his chin as he eats but he just hates when people overstay their welcome, especially at establishments like this. He should be going to bed anyway since he’s got an early morning. 

But instead of going home like he planned, he sits there at the bar, watching you close up because you insist on having the company and who is he to say no? You’re just so persuasive-not that he would need much convincing to hang out with you. Even in just the few hours that he’s spent with you, it’s like all of the screaming in his head has stopped. It’s now filled with your laugh and the jokes you’ve made throughout the night. 

You’ve been scared to get close to people since your mom died and you know that you just met Igor, but there’s something about him that makes you feel safe, appreciated. Even though he doesn’t speak much, you just love that he listens and only adds input when necessary. A lot of men you’ve come across, especially when working, seem to love the sound of their own voices, so everything about Igor is refreshing to you. 

The bar is clean and everyone is gone besides the two of you. You make sure that everything is good to go for whoever is opening and Igor is still there when you come from the back with your purse and jacket. He gets off his stool and holds his hands out, gesturing to your coat. He holds it open for you and you try not to let your heart melt at the sweet gesture. Once he’s got his on, he makes sure that you’re in front of you, making sure to open the door for once the two of you exit the bar. He stands close to you as you lock up, constantly looking over his shoulder because he knows that the freaks always come out at night. 

Once you’re settled, you drop the keys into your purse and head down the street, Igor following closely behind, still on high alert in case he needs to take action. If he didn’t feel like he was overstepping, he would wrap his arm around you for extra protection. He wants to so badly, but he settles for walking behind you since it’s easier to block if someone tries to come from that direction. 

You seem to be feeling the same way because before he can even register what’s happening, you’re grabbing his arm and wrapping your own around it like it’s something you’ve done thousands of times. Igor goes stiff at the sudden action but he doesn’t dare stop you. Something about it just feels so right having you hold onto him as you yap away. 

And you don’t even seem to bat an eye that he’s walking you home even though he didn’t ask. You can defend yourself if need be with your pepper spray or stun gun, but there’s something about a man being protective of you that makes you feel special. Especially since Igor barely even knows you. In fact, he doesn't even know you at all. 

But maybe you want him to. Maybe you want to invite him inside where you can share a joint and have a glass of wine while you watch something on the tv. You don’t think you can take any more than that but that actually sounds nice. 

You used to spend so much time with your mom that it still feels weird doing things by yourself even though the idea of letting anyone else in is terrifying. After she passed, you cut off everyone who mattered to you unintentionally and now it feels weird even possibly letting someone else into your little bubble. 

You have to remind yourself that this is just one night. You don’t have to fully let Igor in if you don’t want to and you’re sure that he would be okay with whatever you wanted. You don’t have to make any big decisions right now so you don’t know what you’re so worried about.

When you finally get out of your head and turn to him, he’s smoking a cigarette, taking a long drag before holding it out to you. You take it from him, your fingers brushing as you do so and he tries his best not to stare at your mouth as you put it between your lips. He does his best to not think about what it might be like to kiss you. 

He doesn’t even know what’s going on here, but he’ll stay as long as you’re willing to keep him around. All his life, all Igor has wanted was to be wanted. He’s always a last resort, the person people hang around when the person they want isn’t available. But you picked him when there were so many men in the bar you could have gone home with. For the first time in his life, he’s feeling wanted. 

You hand the cigarette back with a polite “thank you” before pulling him along as a gust of wind comes your way. And without even a second thought, he turns you to face him, puts his cigarette between his lips and zips up your jacket for you. It’s your turn to stare at his lips now, wanting to know what they’d feel like against yours. You wonder if he’d be sweet or if he’ll push you against the brick wall behind you. 

“Oh,” you say, the sweet gesture catching you off guard. “Thank you, Igor.” Hearing his name fall from your lips again, laced with so much sweetness is making his heart grow even more. You’re smiling up at him as you take hold of his arm again and he doesn’t know how he’s going to leave you after walking you home. Maybe he’ll just have to come back to the bar again after tonight. 

“You’re-” he says and even though you know what he’s trying to say, you don’t try to finish his sentence, letting him get there on his own. You can only imagine how hard it would be to learn English of all languages. “Welcome?” He asks and your smile widens, almost as if you’re proud of him. 

“Right,” you nod as you pull him down the street. He has no idea where you’re taking him and he’s afraid that he’d follow you anywhere. Even if you were to lure him to his death, he’d still follow you because there’s something about you that’s alluring. 

He follows you a few more blocks, now holding your hand as you pull him along and he feels disappointed when you stop at what he assumes is your apartment building. He’s waiting for you to let go, but you’re staring at him with that pretty smile as you swing your linked hands back and forth. God, he could do this for hours. 

You’re stalling now, not wanting to go inside, contemplating inviting him to come with you, but you don’t know what the protocol is here. This has never happened to you before. You normally know exactly what’s going on when you’re spending time with a man, but you can’t get a read on Igor. You know that he’s into you, or at least likes spending time with you because he willingly walked you home from the bar, but other than that, you’re not entirely sure what’s going through his head. 

He holds the door open for you, his other hand still holding yours as he does so and you nod your head towards the lobby as you head inside. 

“You can come in if you want.” He nods once then follows you towards the stairs, the elevators having signs on them that say that they’re out of order. You let out a sigh and roll your eyes. They’ve been like that since you moved in three years ago. 

He follows you up the stairs as you tell him all about the building which you know because you have way too much time during the day to google things like that. He’s fascinated by all of your knowledge, not bored in the slightest as he nods along even though you’re in front of him and can’t see what he’s doing. 

“I know a lot of fun facts. What about you?” You ask and he wracks his brain. “Anything you find interesting?” You he wants to say but decides against it even though he wants to know everything about you. He wants to know your favorite color, what side of the bed you sleep on, how you take your coffee in the morning. 

This is all so new to him. He’s never felt the way before, especially not about a stranger and it’s making him feel crazy for wanting to be close to you, to want to talk to you all night. Maybe if he plays his card right, he might get your phone number or maybe even a kiss if he’s really lucky. 

“No,” he replies as you open the door to your floor, holding it open for him this time and he thanks you as he steps through it. 

“What interests you?” You ask, suddenly feeling guilty for only talking about yourself but little do you know is that he doesn’t mind one bit. He thinks he’s quite boring in comparison. All he likes to do is sit with his grandmother while the two of them crochet while watching television. 

“Crochet,” he replies, his cheeks heating because he knows it’s not a manly thing to do but you smile at him again and he swears he’s going to faint right there. 

“I love that,” you reply as you unlock your door. “You should make me something sometime.” He knows you don’t really mean it but you have no idea that he will do whatever you fucking ask. 

“I can do that,” he nods, already examining your apartment when he steps inside to see what kind of things you like. He’s too shy to actually ask, so he’s just going to do what he does best and observe. 

You’re trying not to fall for him, you really are, but how can you not when he tells you that he crochets and zips up your jacket and walks you home? He’s the perfect gentleman, the kind you only read about in books and he’s here, right in front of you and for whatever reason, you’ve convinced yourself that you can’t have him. 

He’s just going to be a friend. He has to be because all men do is hurt you and you really can’t have that happen again. Keeping him at arm's length just makes sense for right now. 

As soon as the door is closed, he helps you take off your jacket and you hang both yours and his on the rack before turning to him. 

“I really have to go to the bathroom, but please, feel free to make yourself at home.” You gesture towards the living room then disappear down the hallway, leaving Igor alone for the first time since you met him. 

He can’t help but notice your apartment feels like you. It’s hard to explain but your essence is everywhere in this space. Even while you’re away in the other room, he still feels surrounded by you. It’s so full of life. 

It could be all of the fucking plants that seem to be living on every space. Your bookshelves, your tables, on top of your cabinets…it seems like they’re invading every nook and cranny. He admires it, knowing how much effort and care must go into keeping them alive and thriving like you’ve done. He grew up helping his grandmother garden so he can understand how much work it can be. He smiles to himself, thinking how telling it is that you have so many things you have cared for that just surround him. 

The buzzing in his head is coming back as soon as you leave and he looks around for something to distract him. He sees a package of lightbulbs on the island and when he looks up, he realizes that the buzzing isn’t in his head, but the lightbulb above the island that won’t stop blinking. He doesn’t know why it hasn’t been changed because it’s only been a few seconds and he’s already about to go crazy. 

He sits on the island and takes one of the bulbs from the package and quickly switches it out with the one that’s almost out, discarding it in the trash can that’s on the side of the island just as you’re coming out of the bathroom. 

You can’t help but gasp as you immediately notice that the flickering and stupid buzzing has stopped and resist the urge to throw yourself into Igor’s arms and pepper his face in kisses. You had spent months trying to get that bulb unscrewed but it just wouldn’t budge. And you’re fucking super wouldn’t send someone to fix it so you’d been stuck with that stupid light for ages. 

“Oh my god, did you just change the bulb?” You ask and he steps back, afraid that he’s offended you but when you smile at him yet again, he has to let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t fuck up this time. 

Before he can register what’s happening, you’re standing on your toes and pressing a featherlight kiss to his cheek. It feels warm when you pull away so he’s sure that he’s blushing, turning away to make sure that you don’t see it. 

“You’re cute,” you tell him as you pinch his cheek and if he didn’t think so before, now he’s really thinking that you and his grandmother would get along so well. He’s convinced that she’d love you. He’s never brought a woman home now and then she’d start asking about marriage and great grandchildren and that would definitely be far too much for you, he’s sure of it. 

“Cute?” He asks with a scoff. He’s only heard that word to describe animals and small children, not grown adults. It’s weird, he has to admit, but he’ll take any compliment you’re willing to give him. 

“Adorable,” you pinch his cheeks again, loving how you can make this scary looking man weak in the knees. 

“I think that’s you,” he says and you can’t help but smile again. You’ve been doing that so much tonight that your cheeks hurt more than normal. 

“No,” he shakes his head, leaning closer so that your faces are only inches apart. “It’s not a competition but if it was, you would win.” 

“Igor,” you gasp, followed by a giggle. “Who knew you were such a flirt.”

“I should go,” he says and you pout. You now don’t know what you’re going to do without him. “I can give you my phone number.” Your face lights up as you fish your phone out of your back pocket and pass it to him. He quickly types his number in then hands it back to you before heading towards the door reluctantly as he grabs his jacket. 

He really hopes you call soon because as he’s heading down the hallway and to the stairs, he already misses you. This has never happened to him before and this is why he doesn’t get attached because it just complicates everything, especially his job. But he can’t help but be aware of the magnetic pull between the two of you and for whatever reason, he doesn’t want to stop it. 

You close and lock the door once he’s gone and decide that you should head to bed. As you do so, can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have him on the other side of the bed, cuddling you to his chest as his fingers run through your hair, murmuring sweet nothings to you as you fall asleep. 

_

As you wake up to go to work a few days later, you notice that the cabinet in your bathroom that the mirror is attached to is screwed up. It’s hanging off one of the hinges, looking like it’s seconds from falling to the floor. You know your super won’t send anyone out to fix it (He never actually does his fucking job.) so you have to take matters into your own hands and figure out what the fuck to do. Part of you wants to call Igor, but you feel like you’d be bothering him and he also has a job so you don’t want to interrupt his day.

You go back and forth in your head, and you let your finger hover over his contact as you try to decide what to do. Screw it. You think to yourself. The worst thing is that he will say no. So you press the call button before you chicken out, and your heart is in your stomach as the phone rings and rings. Voicemail. 

“Hey- um, it’s me. Uh, (Y/N)… we met a couple days ago at the bar, you walked me home and saved me from the horrific buzzing lightbulb in my apartment?” You chuckle nervously, you can feel yourself rambling but you can’t help it. It’s compulsive. “Listen, I hate to ask this of you, but I don’t have anyone else to ask- my super actually fucking sucks. My bathroom cabinet is like one step away from just giving out so if you’re around- I can pay you. If you don’t mind! Just let me know! No worries either way!”

He’s so thankful he’s wearing air pods. Igor would never hear the end of it if the guys in the car with him could hear him listening to the same voicemail over and over again. He can’t let himself get swept up in the giddiness he feels that you finally called. He needs to be on. No one can be intimidating if they’re blushing- especially him. He just hates that he needs to wait until after this job to call you, he hates that he can’t just drop everything he’s doing and head straight there. 

It’s a few hours later when he finally calls, and you feel like your stomach does a flip when you see his name pop up. You answer maybe a little too quickly but you’re too anxious to talk to him again you can’t find it in you to care. 

“Hey,” you say brightly, maybe coming off a little strong. 

“Hey, sorry. I just got your message.” Lie. “I was working. I can come over now if you‘ll be home?” He asks, trying to sound nonchalant. He hates talking on the phone but he could do this with you for hours. He instantly feels calm around you, no longer feeling the stress of his job that’s always on his shoulders when he’s speaking to you. 

“Yeah,” you nod, even though he can’t see you. “I’ll be home all day so just whenever.” 

“I’ll be on my way in a minute.” He doesn’t tell you how fast he plans on driving fast to get to you quicker. He has to see what you need and maybe he’s just desperate to see you again since he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since the other night. 

“Oh, thank you so much, Igor. I really appreciate it!” You hang up before he can say “you’re welcome” and he gets into his car to head to you. 

He’s there in a flash, knocking on your door as he stands there, out of breath. You pull the door open and he stares at you, a small smile playing on his lips as he gives an awkward wave. 

You’ve never had someone drop what they were doing to come meet you so you’re caught off guard by how quickly he showed up. He’s standing there with his little tool box and you’re wondering how you’re already falling for him after only seeing him twice. This never happens and now you’re wondering if fate has anything to do with it as opposed to your apartment just being shitty. 

You’re going to choose to believe that it’s fate even if your apartment is that shitty. Because this is the first time since your mother passed that you’ve felt like you can trust someone. You feel safe with Igor despite having only seen him once before now. Something about it just feels so right and now you want to take a leap and dive head first into whatever this is. 

“It’s straight through here,” you lead him to the bathroom and he sets his tool box down, following you to assess the situation, but as soon as you both enter the small space, the mirror gives and falls to the floor, the glass shattering into a million pieces. 

Igor is quick to grab hold of you and pull you back, tucking your head into his chest with his hand while his other holds onto your waist in a protective manner. You’re both breathing heavily, still holding onto each other even after the loud crash. 

This is the closest you’ve ever been and there’s just something about it that just feels right. You feel safe, protected. And this is unlike how you’ve felt with any other man. 

Igor feels the same way, loving holding you in his arms. In this moment, he feels like nothing can hurt you because he’s got you. It feels so intimate and he’s not sure when the last time he held someone like this was. Something about it just feels so right and now he’s not sure he wants to let go. 

You stay like that for a little longer until he finally pulls away, making sure that you’re almost before he asks where your broom is, sweeping up the mess without a word. He’s so thoughtful and you keep wondering how no one has snatched him up but you’re secretly grateful because now you have him all to yourself. Your own personal handyman. 

_

It’s to a point where Igor is at your apartment more often than not and now you’ve given him a key to the place so he doesn’t have to knock every time. It might just be a key but it means so much more to the both of you. That this might be becoming more than just a friendship. 

You’ve cuddled on your couch after he’s finished up your tasks for him more times than either of you can count. You order dinner for the both of you and you talk over your meals, laughing about things on the tv. You’re not even official yet but you both know that there’s something there. Maybe if either of you could get it together, you’d get the guts to actually ask. 

-

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

The sound of your kitchen sink was driving you absolutely insane. It has been days, and you did your best up until now to ignore it. It was becoming unbearable. It was all you could hear and you swear it was becoming louder with every passing day. You couldn’t take it anymore. 

I’m so sorry to ask another favor. My landlord will not send someone out to fix my faucet and it’s driving me crazy. Do you know what to do to fix it? 

Igor couldn’t help the way he was smiling to himself when he read your text. He couldn’t help but feel practically giddy at the idea that you need his help- that you need him. It was an indescribable feeling that bubbled up and made his entire body feel overwhelmingly warm. He’d fix everything, solve all your problems- anything you asked. He liked being the one you turned to. 

I can come by today

Whenever you can! Don’t worry about it- no rush. 

He chuckles to himself, as if he wouldn’t drop whatever he was doing to help you when you call. He appreciates how sincere you are, not wanting to take advantage of his kindness. He wishes you’d realize how much he wants you to take advantage of him. He wants to help you, he wants to do anything to just make you happy. If fixing a leak, a light bulb, a loose hinge… if that made you smile, he’d gladly do it no questions asked. He’s at your apartment within the hour and you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are.

“Hi,” he says simply, and you can hear that he sounds a little breathless. Did he run up the stairs? You can’t help but feel a little flustered at the idea as you step aside to let him in. 

“Hi,” you say back, grinning. 

“I brought the stuff,” he says matter of factly, holding up his tool box. 

“I really appreciate this, honestly,” you say, leading him over to the kitchen- directly to the offensively loud kitchen sink. “You’re a lifesaver.” Your praise makes his heart swell, and he does his best to look the other way so you don’t see him blush. 

He takes a moment to just observe as he puts his tools down on the counter. You noticed that about him- how incredibly thoughtful he is with everything. He doesn’t ever rush- except when he threw that guy out at the bar. But even then, everything was just so concise. You don’t think you’ve ever met someone like him. You have to physically shake your head to expel the thoughts before you let yourself get so wrapped up in watching him. 

“This shouldn’t be difficult,” he muses. “I have it handled, just do whatever you need to do.”

He opens the cabinet doors under your kitchen sink so he can look at the pipes, and he sees the source of the problem. You watch as he lays on his back and sticks his head into the cabinet to get a closer look at the pipes, shining a flashlight in the right spot. You don’t want to hover, or annoy him with a million questions so you decide to just follow his advice and continue on with your day. 

You look down at your appearance as you walk out of the kitchen into your bedroom. You were still in the clothes you slept in and your hair was one or two days past your normal wash day. You hadn’t thought about that and now you’re a little embarrassed he’s seen you like this but you rationalize that he didn’t notice or even care. 

Peeking out into the kitchen again, Igor’s head is still buried under the sink as he tinkered away so you decide you can probably sneak into the shower without him noticing. You escape back into your bedroom and peel off your clothes, tossing them haphazardly into your hamper. You pull on your robe, which is suddenly feeling so much shorter than it usually does. 

You tie the belt of your robe securely around your waist and use one hand to keep the top closed snugly across your chest. You poke your head out to see if he’s still working. Thankfully, he is so you tip toe across the hallway. But of course, your apartment is ancient so the floor creaks loudly as you forget to avoid that one spot on the floor. You wince, hoping he didn’t hear it, pausing for a moment. You hold your breath, even though you aren’t sure why. 

The unexpected sound makes him jump, and he curses in Russian when he hits his head on the pipe. You rush over to him as he clutches his head and kneel beside him to get a look at his wound. His skin is red when you pull his hand away, but he’s not even thinking about that. He’s distracted by your robe and what’s underneath it, scolding himself for the impure thoughts, but he can’t help it. What would happen if he just reached up and-

“Igor?” You ask and his eyes snap up to your face, hoping that you didn’t catch him staring at the top part of your robe that opened just a bit. He couldn’t see anything, but god does he want to. “I’m gonna get you some ice, okay?” You ask and he totally doesn’t get a glimpse up your robe when you stand up and head to the freezer to grab an ice pack. 

“Here,” you tell him as you rest the ice pack that you’ve wrapped in a towel on to his forehead. He doesn’t even need it now but he appreciates the gesture. 

“Thank you,” he says, as he moves so he can lie back onto the floor but he notices something soft underneath his head. You got him a pillow. You’re so sweet and he has no idea what he did to deserve this treatment but there’s no way he’s going to deny it. “I’m fine, really.” 

“Right, because a concussed man wouldn’t feel fine enough to look up my robe.” You say it as a joke, but his cheeks are burning, his eyes widening as he realizes that he’s been caught. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him as you kneel beside him again. “I don’t mind. In fact, you can look all you want.” You’re being so flirty and he can’t believe this is happening. It’s something he only thought was possible in his dreams. 

You lean closer, your face only inches from his. So close that he could just lean in and-

“Can I try something?” You ask in a whisper and he nods enthusiastically. Whatever it is, he’s down. He watches you get up on your knees and in a flash, you’re sitting on his face. 

You sit there for a second then panic when he doesn’t do anything, wondering if you read the situation wrong. If you completely fucked up the whole thing you had going on. You go to get off him, but in an instant, he grabs hold of your thighs and pulls you back down, causing a gasp to fall from your lips. 

Just when you’re about to ask what’s going on, you feel him spread your legs, his tongue gliding over your cunt as you lean forward, pressing your hands against the hardwood because you know that your legs already feel like jello. 

You let out a moan as his tongue moves down to your slit, licking and sucking before introducing his teeth, eating you out like he’s a man starved. This is exactly what the both of you needed and you can’t believe it took so long to get there. 

You’re hitting your fist against the floor as he continues, not even caring if you get a noise complaint from your neighbors because it just feels so good. 

His hand reaches up and unties your robe before he gently rolls you onto your back, pulling away as he pushes your robe open to get a good look at you. He mutters something in Russian that you’ve heard multiple times but you still don’t know what it means. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he says, staring down at you and he prays that you can’t see how lovesick he really is. Seeing you lying there completely naked for him, that you trust him that much, it’s making him fall for you even harder. 

“You think so?” You ask, your skin feeling like it’s on fire as he’s now looking like wants to eat you whole. 

“Swear,” he nods before hooking your legs over his shoulders then going in again, hungrier as he continues, feeling his cock straining in his jeans as he hears you moan over and over, feeling you grabbing at his shirt, balling it in your fists just to have something to hold onto. 

You’re already close, feeling an orgasm build and for once, you’re not in your head, wondering if you’re doing it right. With Igor, something just clicks and you’re able to stop yourself from overthinking. All you can think about right now is that he definitely knows that he’s doing.  

His name spills out of your mouth in a breathy moan as you reach your climax, your back arching as you scratch up the part of his back that’s exposed by his bunched up shirt. He goes for one more bite before pulling away, wiping his face with his shirt. 

He closes your robe and gently ties it before leaning down, his face only inches from yours. You’re sure, positive that he’s going to kiss you, but he just smiles, the one that’s only reserved for you. 

“Go shower,” he says and you nod as he stands to help you up but as soon as your feet hit the floor, your knees give out and he’s quick to catch you. He picks you up and carries you to the bathroom and sets you on the toilet before turning on the water for you. He then wordlessly leaves, shutting the door behind him to go finish the pipes, both of you not able to think about anything besides what just happened. 

All Igor can think about since he left your apartment the other day is you. Well, more specifically, how he should have kissed you when he had the chance. You were right there but he was scared. He doesn’t normally kiss people during sex because that’s just too intimate for him so he avoids it at all costs. But he wanted- wants to kiss you so badly that it hurts. 

It’s plaguing his mind, all he’s been able to think about ever since. He just sees your lips and wonders what they’d feel like slotted between his. He just knows they’d taste like that lip balm he always sees you putting on and he desperately wishes he could rewind time and just go for it. It’s been days and he can’t escape it, and it’s driving him absolutely insane. He feels like he’s reaching a breaking point and he needs to do something about it. 

Fuck it. 

Before he even thinks about what he’s doing, and it’s so unlike him to not think something through, he’s knocking on the door to your apartment, silently praying that you’ll be home. He can’t stand it anymore. He’s sick of waiting, he’s sick of holding himself back- 

“Igor, what-” 

His lips are pressed against yours and you both feel sparks, butterflies, electricity- whatever you want to call it. He feels everything when he’s around you, and he can’t let himself deny it anymore. Your lips are just as soft as he dreamed about, and he worries he took things too far until he feels you relax into his touch and kiss him back, your lips slotting against his in perfect rhythm. 

His hands cup your face, his thumb affectionately rubbing gently over your cheek as he walks you both back into the apartment. He kicks the front door shut behind him, not even caring in the least at how loud it slammed shut. Your hands rest on his chest, melting against him. You feel practically dizzy. He takes up all of your senses. 

You don’t break the kiss until you're both breathless, his forehead resting against yours as you try your best to calm the beating of your heart. Your chests rise and fall in sync as you both just silently bask in the aftermath of the kiss. You can’t help the lovesick smile that spreads across your face as you open your eyes to see him smiling back at you. 

“я тебя люблю.” When he musters up the courage to finally fucking say it, it feels like a weight has been lifting off his shoulders. He’s burdened him by keeping his emotions hidden for far too long. He’s done, he’s never felt more confident in anything before. This is it- you’re it. He knows it. “I love you,” he reaffirms, making it clear. 

Your breath catches in the back of your throat at his confession. His statement hangs in the air for a moment as your eyes scan his. You can’t believe what you’ve heard for a moment- it all feels too good to be true. But, you let yourself believe him. You finally feel ready to fully let him in. You know you can trust your heart with him. He’s who you want, always. 

“I love you too.” 

You press your lips to his again, not wanting to be apart for as long as you have already. You feel like you have so much time you need to make up for and you don’t want to waste another second. With your lips never leaving his, your tongue is in his mouth as you pull him further into your apartment. He lets you drag him, happily. He’d follow you anywhere. 

Guiding him into your bedroom, you gently push him down onto your bed. He’s sitting on the edge as you straddle his waist. He wraps his arms around you, his hands slipping under your shirt to rub your back and your arms wrap around his neck. You smirk against his lips when you feel his bulge underneath you. Emboldened, you grind down on it and elicit the softest moan from his lips. You’re already addicted to hearing it and you want more. You do it again, proud of yourself, for being the one who makes him feel like this. 

He’s disappointed when he feels you pulling away from him, and he pouts until he sees you sinking to your knees in front of him. His eyes widen, watching you so intensely and it thrills you. You fumble with the fly of his jeans, pulling the zipper so tantalizingly slow that he thinks he might combust. 

“Always take such good care of me,” you purr, and you tug on the waistband of his boxers. He helps you get them down his legs and you swear he hasn’t even blinked. “I want to show you how much I appreciate it… how much I need you.” 

Oh, he’s completely and utterly fucked. He wants this so bad that it actually hurts. He can feel it straining in his jeans and he just needs some release. You’re pulling his pants down and both them and his boxers drop to his ankles. 

You stare up at him with that flirty look and he’s glad he’s sitting because if he wasn’t, he’s sure that he’d need to. He presses his hands against the mattress as you spit into your hand, wrapping it around him before pumping. 

He watches you, a shuddered breath falling from his lips as his eyes flutter closed. No one’s done this to him in so long and he forgot how it felt. And maybe this is because it’s you, but he’s convinced that this is the best handjob he’s ever received. The sensation is overwhelming, and he can’t help but throw his head back as he chokes back a moan.

“I wanna hear you,” you coax, running your hand up his thigh encouragingly. He nods, biting his lip as he watches you. Fuck, you’re so pretty. He’s mesmerized by every little thing you’re doing, taking it all in. He watches as he’s wetting his lips because suddenly his mouth feels too dry as you tilt your head down, licking a long stripe from the base of his cock to his tip. 

He whimpers, gasping at how good it feels as you kitten lick the precum from his slit. You look at him with these doe eyes as you sink your pretty lips down on his cock and he can’t even think straight. His breathing his jagged as he brushes your hair out of your face for you, and he can’t help but just admire you. He swears he’s never felt this good. 

“Fuck,” he moans, as he feels your tongue swirl around his shaft. He feels like he might pass out if you keep going like this. You’re going to make him see stars and he’ll forget his own name. “You feel so good… красивая девушка,” [“beautiful girl,”] he gasps, stroking your hair as he gazes down at you like he’s in a trance. “So close… fuck.” 

He feels like all of the blood in his body is rushing to his cock as he feels that familiar coil winding inside him. He wants to ask you what to do, he doesn’t want to assume. It’s like you can sense the question before he’s able to ask, because you quicken your pace almost like you're daring him to finish. His eyes shut tightly, and his whole body shivers as he cums and you still don’t stop. 

He’s struggling to catch his breath, his body practically feeling like putty in your hands as your fingers stoke his thighs comfortingly as he comes back from his orgasm. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but he’s at a loss for words when you open your mouth- sticking out your tongue just enough to show him how you’re swallowing everything he gave you. Fuck. 

He’s quick to cup your face in his hands, leaning down to kiss you again. With a gentle touch, he’s guiding you back up towards him as you peel your sweats and your soaks panties down your legs. You’re shocked that he still wants to keep going- guys you’ve been with before would be done by now, but not him. He’s so completely obsessed with getting you closer, keeping you closer- you both are nowhere near done. He has too much time to make up for. 

As you straddle his waist, he guides you down gently on his cock and you softly moan against his ear as you feel the way he stretches you out perfectly. The atmosphere around the two of you has changed- neither of you frenzied, but ready to settle into each other. You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck as he nuzzles into your collarbone, pressing kisses over the fabric of your shirt before pulling it off of you. 

God, you make him feel so warm everywhere. His breath catches in his throat when you finally sink down on him completely and he worries perhaps that his heart stopped. He presses his forehead against yours, his large hands wrapping around your back pulling you close- your bare chest flush against his. 

“You feel incredible,” he praises, leaving a trail of kisses from your neck and down your shoulder. You tentatively move your hips and his hands find your waist, holding you still and at first, it confuses you. When you realize what he’s silently asking for, you’re more than happy to oblige. You hold his shoulders, nuzzling your face into his neck and he strokes your hair. 

It’s so intimate. And you feel so strange by how much that it doesn’t scare you- not anymore, not when it’s him. 

It’s a few moments until you're squirming, desperate for a little friction. You start small, grinding your hips again slowly, drawing out your movements as you carefully observe his reaction. He must feel the same desperation as you do, because it’s all he needs. He groans, throwing his head back, overstimulated at the sensation. His hands slide down, holding you securely as he presses his lips to yours in a searing kiss and thrusts up into you messy and desperate. 

“Love you,” he pants, your breath hot and jagged in your ear. It sends shivers up your spine. “Only want you,” he promises, and he says it like a needy whine as you feel his movements getting sloppier. 

Your fingers are digging into his shoulders, and you're leaving red marks all over his skin. He loves it, wanting to see all the evidence that you were everywhere. He needs the reminder when you’re not around that this was all actually real. Your nails against his skin make him shiver, and he suddenly is hyper aware that he loves the sensation. That’s not even something he’s even thought before- he’s just so attracted to every part of you that he’s infatuated with your nails for fucksake. He loves it, he loves you, he wants to spoil you if you’d just let him. He’ll pay for you to get your nails done pretty however you like if you keep using them to mark him up like this. 

You’re moaning, his name falling from your lips and you look so pretty sitting on his cock that he can’t focus on anything else. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire, overwhelmed entirely by how well he’s hitting that one spot so well that it’s making tears prick in the corners of your eyes. He’s feeling so close, so desperately on edge that he can’t think straight- but he still reaches up, and gently wipes them away with his thumb. It’s a touch that’s way too tender in contrast to the way he’s fucking you. 

You feel yourself getting close, and you swear that you’re seeing stars as your orgasm washes over you. You cry out, burying your face in his chest because you’re feeling so sensitive. He can feel you tighten around his cock and he knows he won’t be able to last much longer. He can see that your orgasm exhausted you, so he skillfully flips you both gently so you're laying on the bed and he’s hovering over you. 

“Fuck, you did so well,” he praises, continuing his pace, kissing you. He’s holding his upper body up on his hands as they rest on either side of your head. He’s gazing down at you, taking in how you look in this moment- your hair splaying out on the bedspread, your chest rising and falling as you breathe, your eyes looking up at him… it’s all too much. 

He feels like all of the emotion, everything he’s feeling, all of it just begins to bubble over and he pulls out just in time before his orgasm hits him like a large wave. He finishes on your stomach and he rests his head against the crook of your neck as he takes a second to catch his breath. 

Your eyes feel heavy as you both lie there for a moment, the haze taking over both of you. He kisses your cheek, pushing your hair back from your forehead. He gets up, promising he’ll be right back. You can hear the sink running, and he waits for the water to warm before he runs a cloth under the stream for you. 

You can hear him puttering around, and you’re starting to wonder what he’s doing that’s taking so long. Just when you begin to wonder, he’s walking back into the room with a warm damp cloth in one hand and your reusable water bottle in the other. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes, kissing your temple, and putting the water bottle in your hands. “I emptied the filter so I wanted to refill it before I forgot.” 

How did you end up here? You wonder what you did to somehow deserve this treatment. He drags the cloth gently across your skin, cleaning you up carefully. He disappears again to toss it in the hamper and then rejoins you on the bed, pulling you in close to him. You rest your head on his chest, your fingertips gently tracing the tattoo on his chest aimlessly. 

__

Not too many days after, you’re waiting outside Igor’s house- the music from your car’s speaker is making the bass vibrate as you tap your hands on the steering wheel. You sent him a text, letting him know that you’re here- cause who just walks up to the door these days? Not you. You pull down your sun visor, taking one last look at your appearance in the mirror- you were nervous. You’d never been to his house before, never met his grandmother who he spoke so highly of. It was intimidating. 

Your phone vibrates, and it’s Igor calling. Your brow furrows in confusion, wondering why he’s calling you instead of meeting you at the door. You answer almost immediately. 

“Hey,” you say, trying to sound more relaxed than you were. You were trying desperately to make your heart stop beating so fast with nerves as you looked over to the house. You turn off your radio. “What’s up?” You ask, trying to sound casual. 

“I’m so sorry,” He apologies, and he sounds completely sincere. “I’m not home yet. It was-uh, work thing.” How does he even begin to explain all the shit he saw today? He wants to tell you in person. He wants to just see you, knowing that would be enough to make all of the stress of today melt. “I will be there soon- as soon as I can.” He can sense your hesitation over the phone. 

“Please, go inside,” he urges, and you bite your lip feeling unsure. “My grandmother- my tatik is home- make yourself comfortable. She wants to meet you…”

“She wants to meet me?” you ask, a shy smile spreading across your face. He’s talked to his grandmother about me. The thought itself is absolutely dizzying, and you can’t remember a time you felt like this before. 

“Of course she does,” he says, a little surprised by your question. “I told her about you- please, I won’t be long. She’s expecting you to come anyway.”

“She doesn’t speak English well,” he adds quickly. You feel anxiety rise in your chest. You worry about how this interaction will go if he’s not there to translate. You decide to not let that apprehension win, and you decide to just say fuck it and go inside. 

“Okay,” you resolve, “I’ll see you soon.” 

With that, you pulled your key out of the ignition and walked up the front steps. You take a deep breath before you knock not knowing what to expect. Igor spoke so highly of her, and you wanted her to like you, desperately. 

You weren’t expecting to need to look down when she answered the door. Hunched and slow moving, she opens the door with a smile on her face. In her house and fuzzy slippers, she didn’t seem at all bothered to greet company in her pajamas. She ushered you inside before you got a chance to introduce yourself. You slide off your shoes and leave them in the front entry, and she nods approvingly. 

“I’m (y/n),” you introduce yourself and offer to shake her hand. She extends her fragile hand out to you and you smile, gently shaking her hand. “Igor told me he’d be late…”

“Always late,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. You can’t help but giggle at her disdain for his tardiness. “Come- help me,” she says, hurrying you into the kitchen. “Need young arms.”

Before you even realize what you’ve gotten into- you are elbows deep in kneading dough with your forehead covered with flour. She watches your technique over your shoulder and nods approvingly, appreciating your effort since she doesn’t have the strength to do it anymore. 

Igor can’t help the way his heart swells, hearing the laughter of the two of you from the entryway as he gets home. His grandmother sees him first, walking over and swatting him on the arm. 

“Почему вы не привезли ее раньше?” [“Why didn’t you bring her over sooner?”] She asks, and she sounds angry. You tilt your head confused, worried you did something. Igor offers you a gentle smile, melting at the sight of how quickly you’ve seemed to settle into his world. He sends you a reassuring look, and he watches the anxiety melt away as you continue what you’re doing. “Пришло время привести домой хорошую девочку,” [“It’s about time you brought home a good girl.”]

“Она великолепна. Не правда ли?” [“She’s great, isn’t she?”] He replies, blush forming on his cheeks. “не смущай меня” [“Don’t embarrass me.”]

She waves him off, walking back over to my side and she pats me on the shoulder for a job well done. “Thank you,” she says sincerely. 

Spending time with Igor’s grandmother in a way, made you feel more connected to your mother again in ways that you didn’t fully expect. You find yourself back in the midst of your mother’s culture, and it’s almost like you can feel her presence again. It feels like family, and it terrifies you and excites you all at the same time. 

You want to hold on to the feeling so tightly and never let go. You were so afraid of getting hurt again but if you find yourself longing for more days like this as the three of you sit around his grandmother’s dining room table. It feels so normal that you could cry. It’s stable, and it feels safe. For the first time you let yourself relax into your feelings and you can’t help but smile as Igor’s grandmother forces you to take thirds, which you know better to decline. 

After dinner, he walks you to the door and you have three tupperware containers of food in your arms his grandmother insisted on giving you to take home. He rests his hand on your back as he walks you out, guiding you gently out onto the porch so you can have a few minutes alone. 

“I think she likes me,” you smile, triumphantly and he can’t help but nod in agreement. 

“Mhm,” he murmurs, eyes darting from your eyes to your lips. 

“I wanted to ask you..” you trail off, suddenly a little shy under his gaze. 

“Yes?” He asks patiently. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The sweet gesture makes you shiver. 

“I have that trip… the one I was supposed to go on with my mom…” You begin, not sure how to ask him. You second guess yourself, wondering if this is all happening way too soon. You take a steadying breath. “Would you ever consider coming with me?” 

You hate your uniform. The bright blue polo shirt and the stupid matching visor- fucking stupid. You feel like you look like a moron and you’ve always found it embarrassing. You always took off the dumb thing when your manager went home for the night. No one comes in after midnight ever- the occasional drunk but they don’t care if you’re wearing your visor or not.

On the slow nights you read, or sometimes you’ll watch trashy reality TV on your phone. With your elbows perched on the counter, you flip through your most recent romance novel as the time passes. It’s well past 1am and the bright fluorescent lights buzz above you.

“Uh- $40 pump two, please,” a polite voice breaks your concentration. It makes you jump in surprise and you apologize quickly.

“Shit- uh, fuck sorry,” you fumble, quickly placing the book down, opened to keep your page. You take the cash he hands you as he offers a subtle smile.

“No need for apology,” he expresses, and you can now hear his accent- distinctly Russian, or maybe Armenian? You aren’t sure. His voice is soft and comforting- very kind. You’re immediately more at ease. He reads your name aloud from your name tag. It’s infuriating as much as it’s endearing.

“You’re all set,” you offer, suddenly shy. You pass him the receipt after it is printed. He nods, tucking it into his jacket pocket. You watch him walk back outside, the cold air wafting in as the bell above the door rings.

As he waits by the pump, he catches you watching him through the window of the store. When he meets your eye, he’s amused when you immediately look away- trying to play off like you weren’t looking the whole time. He’s flattered, and he can’t help but smile to himself. He’s not used to any sort of attention- he tends to go by unnoticed in his daily life. He can be intimidating when he tries- out of necessity, but that’s not him.

He’s so pretty, you observe, like James McAvoy you settle on. You avert your attention away for the final time and decide to turn back to your book and do your best to ignore the headache that’s developing under the store’s harsh lights.

It’s one of those passing crushes, at first. The kind like when you fall in love temporarily with a stranger across the grocery store. You play out the whole thing in your head to inevitably never approach them, go home, and let the cycle of daydream continue another day with another stranger.

---

You’re freezing as you stand on the sidewalk in the long line that has now wrapped around the block. Your ankles hurt from the height of your heels but they’re too cute not to wear. Your outfit is far too short and shows far too much skin for the night air, but in your defense- you and your friends didn’t imagine you’d be outside this long. Your entire body is covered in goosebumps as you wrap your arms around yourself to keep warm. Your friend offers you a cigarette which you accept gratefully as she places it in your mouth for you.

“Fuck!” you exclaim frustrated, “Why aren’t they fucking letting anyone in?” You peer over to try to see the front of the line, and you notice people towards the front are trying to reason with the club’s bouncer- who you immediately hate because you resent his hoodie and puffer jacket he wears to brace the cold. You think about how the moment you can step foot in, you’re making a beeline to the bar and getting a shot to warm up.

Someone, probably a promoter or something, emerges from the inside. He says something to the bouncer, you’re too far away to hear. The bouncer nods, and the guy starts walking down the line. He looks at the groups who are waiting, and he gestures to a few groups of just girls- you and your friends included- and ushers you all inside. You’re too elated to care as he’s saying something about needing to up the ratio of men to women blah blah blah. You quickly stomp out your cigarette and all you can think about is warming up.

You link arms with two of your friends as you head towards the inside, scurrying excitedly to get out of the cold. The bouncer nods to each group as they enter, but puts up an arm to stop you and your friends. “IDs,” he says, and you swear his voice sounds so familiar.

“C’mon man, we’re cold as shit,” your friend complains, letting go of your arm to retrieve her ID from her clutch. Looking in his direction, you immediately recognize him from the other day- the customer from your overnight shift. You aren’t sure if he would recognize you, you're positive you put more thought into the whole interaction than he did. You make eye contact and you swear for a moment he wants to say something, but he just stares. Realizing you decided to go without a bag, you bite your lip and mutter a silent “shit” as you need to pull your ID from your bra to hand to him. He says nothing, just nervously licks his lips as he takes your license.

“Thanks,” he says, handing them back. Your friends huff, and drag you inside. Your eyes linger on him as they pull you and you both watch each other until you disappear from view.

A remix of Von dutch is playing so loud and the club is packed. It’s completely dark except for the raving strobe lights that are synced to the beat of the music. You can’t hear anything over the screams of Addison Rae as your friends get a round of shots. You happily accept, tilting your head back. The burn is such a welcomed sensation to your freezing body. You let the crowd dictate where your body moves, letting yourself start to let loose.

A couple of hours later, you’re more than ready to get out of there. It was fun, but your friends have mostly paired off with men and you’re anticipating that soon they’ll be roping them into wherever the group decides to go next. You aren’t in the mood for another night of splitting a cab with one of your friends and whatever guy is going back to their place. You don’t need the reminder that amongst the group, you’re never the one getting the guy, you think pessimistically. You text your friends, lying about an early shift, and let them know you’re getting an Uber.

Standing outside, you’re freezing again, and it’s almost worse now that your body has been so acclimated to the warmth inside. You lean against the brick building and cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to warm yourself up.

“Here,” you hear him say, and you look up surprised, not realizing he was there. He offers you his jacket for you to take. “You need,” he insists. You offer a thankful smile and slip it over your shoulders. It smells like woodsy cologne and cigarettes. The warmth engulfs you and you swaddle yourself into the warm fabric.

“Thank you,” you say shyly. He nods and puts his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. He pulls out a small pack of pre-rolls, and offers one to you. You accept and hold it between your fingers as he lights it for you.

“You probably don’t fucking remember me, but like, I think you got gas the other night at the uh place I work-”

“I remember.”

“Oh, okay-”

“You were reading a book and then what’s the word ‘ogled’ me? You ‘ogled’ me when you thought I wasn’t looking,” he teased.

“I was not ogling you!” you scoff, defensive. You can feel how warm your face is from his accusation. “It’s my job to make sure dumbasses aren’t gonna blow themselves up at the pump. It was purely a safety measure,” you lie obviously, making him laugh.

“Whatever you say,” he responds with a sly smile. You see a car start to pull up. Reluctantly, you unwrap yourself from his jacket and hand it back to him.

“Uh, that’s my Uber,” you explain and you swear he looks disappointed. He nods, accepting his jacket back.

“Can I call you?” he asks as the black sedan pulls up to the curb. You nod enthusiastically. He hands you his phone and you quickly text yourself.

“Uh that’s me,” you explain dumbly, cringing because duh. He just smiles, and it’s painfully sincere. You slide into the backseat of the car, and you can feel your phone buzz with a notification before you even finish putting on your seatbelt.

My name is Igor

---

You’re sitting on your couch as you lick the rolling paper to finish off your joint. A metal tv tray rests over your lap acting as your work station. You admire your work and then pass it to Igor, who accepts it without a word. You move the tray table to the floor so you can get comfortable, and you lean into his side as he lights the joint. The two of you share it, passing it back and forth between each other as your eyes are both focused on the TV.

It’s been a few weeks and your relationship with Igor has gone on undefined. Lines have been blurred and you can’t pin point if it’s the substances that are in your systems or if it’s just that when you’re with him, time feels like it stops- a hangout stretching into a couple days without you even realizing.

You don’t know what you’d call this. It’s not friends, and it feels much like it’s much more than casual. You assume it’s exclusive- you spend so much time together; there’s hardly any opportunities for him to see someone else. But there’s been no lines drawn, no labels given- he’s slotted himself into your life seamlessly like you’ve known him forever. His grandmother treats you like her own blood, taking an immediate liking to you. It all just works.

“What is this?” You ask suddenly, looking up at him. His eyes widen in confusion. He takes the joint out from between his lips, exhaling smoke.

“Maybe Idica, I don’t know,” he muses and you sigh in frustration at your inability to be direct.

“I’m sorry,” you laugh, hiding your face in your hands. “No, not that,” you clarify. “I meant like- you and me.”

“Oh, um,” he replies, mulling things over in his head before he speaks. “Whatever you want.”

“I don’t know what I want,” you answer honestly, and he nods understandingly, but you feel him clear his throat and you can feel him straighten his posture. You worry he misunderstood your meaning. “No, no- fuck. I made it weird,” you sigh, “I just meant like, I don’t want to mess it up by changing it. But at the same time, I don’t want you doing this with someone else- and I don’t want to do this with anyone else but you- you know?”

“I know,” he replies, he’s so patient and sweet about it. He kisses your temple and just lets you process. He’s so gentle like that, all the time. “I want the same,” he states simply. “Just us,” he reiterates, taking another hit and then passes the joint back to you.

“Just us,” you smile.

“So does this mean we’re uh, boyfriend girlfriend?” He teases and he laughs at how your nose scrunches in disgust.

“Gross,” you pretend to gag. You shake your head, like your trying to shake out the memory of him saying something so fucking cheesy. It makes him smile.

—

“He’s coming runnin’ runnin’ runnin’ runnin’ runnin’ runnin’,” you sing obnoxiously as Igor’s pulls up to the curb. “He’s coming. Ridin’ round town, they gonna feel this one.” You see his cheeks turn pink as he tries to not laugh.

“What the fuck is that?” He questions, walking around to open the passenger door for you.

“Oh my fucking god, dude. It’s Tyler the Creator- it’s IGOR’S THEME. Did you now know that? I’ve been doing that bit for like two weeks and you didn’t think to fucking look it up?” You laugh a little. You buckle up, and extend out your hand. “Give me your phone, you need to listen to it.”

Without hesitation, he passes his phone to you and then he pulls away from the curb slowly. You start the album from the beginning, and you settle back into your seat. You put his phone down in the cup holder and rest your head against the seat belt. It’s a comfortable silence as you both listen. As he drives, he rests his right hand comfortably on your thigh, his thumb making circles.

Anxiety is a tricky thing. As time passes, you begin to feel insecure for monopolizing the music. You start to feel guilty about the jab you made at Igor’s expense for not knowing this album. You begin to overthink everything, and the music playing starts to make you feel overexposed. And you begin to associate his silence with resentment.

“You can change it to whatever you want,” you say apologetically. He looks at you confused from the corner of his eye, only glancing over so he can focus on the road.

“But you like this?” He asks, puzzled.

“I don’t want to force feed stuff to you,” you try to explain, “I didn’t mean to make you sit through it.”

“I think it’s great,” he offers sincerely, “it’s good.”

“You don’t have to say that, just because I like it,” you counter, feeling insecure.

“I like the music,” he reiterates, “I like it, and I like it because it’s something you wanted to share with me.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I love when you share things with me,” he interrupts you before you begin to spiral. “Do it more often,” he says, encouragingly. He stops for the red light, and leans over to kiss you. “Please.”

He turns his attention back to the road as the light turns green and you can’t help but smile as you watch him turn the dial up.

Rumors travel fast on a ship filled with long-life species, what else is there to do when you've had so many years to explore every possible hobby you could find? Naturally, the ever-changing gossip of new developments that can change with a flip of a coin makes everyone a little excited. Whispers behind painted nails, lingering eyes that gaze up and down, and even shy giggles that are poorly hidden behind paper fans. The rumor mill is fast and latches onto anything that could be exploited for entertainment, you would know since it's been your main source of income for a few hundred years. Initially, being a journalist wasn't what you had in mind when you first arrived on the Luofu, but many things in your life suddenly crashed into you and expected you to figure it out. Your boss suddenly decided to cover an entirely different person of interest when the deadline was only a few hours away. The near-death experiences of wandering too deep into places known for its mara-struck monsters roaming about, all for a better picture. Even now, being suddenly asked to play as a referee for the most hyped contestants of the Wardance. An exclusive rematch between the Luofu's ringmaster and the outworlder from Belobog.

Distantly, in the far recesses of your mind which titters on the edge of rationality, are amused that you can finally answer the fan-made question that's been buzzing all over the Luofu.

Igor does fuck like he fights. Hard, fast, and he doesn't pull any punches.

"M-Mister Igor- ah! Slow...down!" you cry out, nails sinking into metal and flesh. You're starting to grow a little crazy, as if the mara decided to strike now even though you're far too young for the disease to form through old age. It's far too hot, Igor runs warmer than anyone given the coldness of his planet, but you're starting to believe that the air is turning fuzzy from the sheer heat radiating off him. It doesn't help that he wants to press himself as close to you as he physically can, the sweat on his body smearing against your skin that you think should feel disgusting, but only makes you burn hotter. You feel like you're melting inside and out, from the tip of your toes up to your brain that's turning dumber and dumber with each passing second.

"Sorry, where I'm from, there's no time for gentle loving. Besides-" Igor punctuates his word with a harsh thrust against your battered hole that sends you squealing, "I don't lose to the same opponent twice."

The declaration awakens another layer into Igor's "fighting spirit", he pulls out until only the tip of his cock is still being clung to by your hole, before burying his cock so deeply you swear you can feel it in the back of your throat. He fucks with all his strength, the loud slapping noises of his skin hitting yours fill the room, almost loud enough that your spectator can't hear any more of your near-hysterical moans. Jing Yuan has the best seat in the house, hovering just above you as he watches Igor bully his cock inside you, a tiny bump in your stomach appearing and disappearing with each thrust. Droplets of sweat trail down Igor's chin until they fall on your fucked-out face. He wonders what it tastes like? His own cock strains against the fabric of his pants at the thought, twitching and weeping pitiful drops of precum but he keeps his hands obediently at his side. It's not his turn yet.

"Ah!! No! I-Igor! Ah- my...you're gonna break me!!" your cries are ignored when Igor leans down to smother your words of mercy. It's almost cute that Igor kisses sweetly, as if he's trying to soothe the tears streaming down your cheeks despite being the cause of them. The coolness of his metal arm sends tiny shivers up your spine as it settles on the arch of your spine, pressing you even closer until you're molded against him. His other hand hitches your thigh onto the curve of his waist, a new angle for him to drive himself deeper. Small little grinds of his cock against your most sensitive spots send shocks through your body before you finally snap, a muffled moan swallowed by Igor as you cum. It doesn't stop the man, only fueling his actions as he pounds into you with utmost desperation, strings of slick being dragged in and out of your hole. Jing Yuan's eyes dim at the sight, his tongue unconsciously running over his lips. His fingers twitch slightly, his resolve and discipline wavering in the face of such temptation. The only reason he doesn't move is the near primal look in Igor's eyes that snap to his, a silent command to wait his goddamn turn.

"Don't cry. You'll like—you'll love this, just toughen it out a bit more," Igor mutters against your ear. His hand has wandered to caress the bulge in your belly, pressing his fingers down against the bump every time it pops up. Igor's hips stutter at the feeling, muscles tensing and twitching as he struggles with his strength to not cause any unwanted pain. It's been a while since he's had the time to indulge in a warm body. Between the matches and his ambition to fight for his home, he hasn't had the time or intention to accept any of the more personal proposals he's been given. There were more important things to be doing, if he needed to vent any frustration, he could be training. So to say he's a bit pent-up is an understatement.

"Fuck- Fuck! Can I come inside?" Igor groans, hands moving to dig into your waist as he physically pushes and pulls you up and down his cock like a ragdoll. You can only give a jumbled slurry of noises that vaguely sounds like a yes before Igor tenses, a low groan as he pumps his cum deeper inside you. The room finally calms down, allowing for a brief respite as Igor gathers his bearings to finally let you go, the sound of your body dropping onto the bed lifeless has him looking up worried.

"Had this been an official match, you would have been disqualified for knocking out the referee," Jing Yuan muses, his head tilting to the side until his white hair covers one of his golden eyes. He's rewarded by Igor's punched-out chuckles, his body still panting as he comes down from his high. Igor slowly maneuvers you more comfortably on the bed, easing your legs down so you don't wake up with a cramp. With great difficulty, because you're so warm, he pulls out with a groan, globs of his cum pooling onto the bedsheets. With one deep inhale, Igor tilts his head up to escape the haze, and with his exhale, golden eyes meet gold.

The man in the lab coat and big black gloves spoke for some time. Your mind flew elsewhere, in a thousand different directions at once. You felt oddly in and out of place at the same time. There was understanding in you, but you lacked context for anything. A vague sense of understanding fell in as you caught the words of the scientist raving above you. He wasn't speaking directly to you, but about you. He rattled off the flaws in your construction, running down his list of observations as he scrutinized you. It made you want to stop moving entirely. You tried to observe for yourself and looked down at your body, what you assumed had to be your body, and felt dread. You became aware that only one of your eyes worked as you studied the skin there. Portions of the torso were inflamed and the stitches bulged. The fingers of your left hand twitched arrhythmically. Your brain felt swollen inside of your aching skull, overfull and pressed tight to the edges. You surmised then that there were a great many other things wrong beyond your appearance. When the man seemed to be finished raving, he covered you with a sheet in one flourish and ordered Igor to clear the room. The one he'd called Igor, a shorter hunched-over person in all black, waited until the man's footsteps faded up the wrought-iron stairs to move. When the door at the top landing slammed, he pulled the sheet from your face.

"Well..." He tilted his head as he peered down at you with large, wayward-facing eyes. "I've seen worse." Your own eyes moved towards him one at a time, still finding their alignment. "Not recently, mind you. But hope is important."

He began unfastening the straps around your wrists. His hands were quick and practiced about it. You weren't sure why that surprised you. He didn't ask you to remain still as he freed you, and he didn't even appear afraid when your fingers closed abruptly around his sleeve. You released him at once on reflex, unsure why you'd reached for him in the first place.

"Hmm…" Igor glanced over the wrinkled cloth of his shirtsleeve. "Good grip. He didn't think to notice that."

You took stock of your surroundings, temporarily satisfied that this man would cause no harm to you. The room was cold, painfully so. Grids of roving electrodes moved in the walls alongside plumbing pipes in a dangerously close manner. The stone beneath the table you lay atop was covered in old chemical washes that roughened the rock and would surely be unpleasant to tread upon. In the high windows above, flashes of light from the latest storm cast scattered reflections about the laboratory.

"Am I to be destroyed?" The sound of your voice frightened you. It didn't feel like your voice… and yet it had to be. It caught against the sallow edges of your throat, roughened by disuse. You hadn't the nerves to flinch, though; maybe they hadn't come awake just yet. Your mind swam with visions and sounds and memories without reason or name. You had this language, and you could understand it. You knew you were alive and what this implied. All else was naught.

Igor looked to be pondering your question. He helped you sit upright. The movement made the room tilt, and you put one hand against his shoulder. He held you firmly, though his body bent beneath your weight, even more than it already was at default. He was stronger than he let on.

"I won't lie to you. He's threatened to do me in several times." Igor chuckled and stopped as soon as he looked back up at you. He raised both hands placatingly. "You are perf- …well, reasonably safe. Safer than I am, certainly, though that isn't saying much." His eyes shifted up to the ceiling as he considered the problem. "You're… an investment, y'see? The doctor doesn't do away with investments. We'll just… keep you out of his way, hm? Somewhere he never looks…" He brought a long, knobby finger up to his chin and tapped thoughtfully, his tongue appearing at one corner of his mouth. "Aha! The kitchen. Doc never eats unless someone forces him. That room might as well be storage."

He offered his hand. You looked between it and his smiling face, hesitating just once before placing your own in his. From the rack near the bottom of the stairs, he took a dark cloak, which he managed to get around you with an upwards hop and a few shakes of the fabric about your shoulders. With that, he led you from the lab. You hadn't thought to imagine a world outside of this, yet. The room you'd woken up in. Or was it born in? You didn't feel newly born, not exactly… it was more like waking up after a long sleep, having no memory of who or where you were before. As the pair of you ascended the stairs, the stimuli of your surroundings took up all your attention. The small flame of Igor's lamp and the sound of your feet upon the stone floor offered soothing anchor points for when you felt unsteady. He walked slowly alongside you and paused when you faltered, sensing you might need time to process your movements. Indeed, you did. These muscles were foreign to you, the weight of the legs, the sensations of cool and damp and rough all at once… you could name them, envision them, but you had no memory of learning such things. It was a fight against your increasingly frayed nerves to remain on track.

In the kitchen, he sat you beside the wood-burning stove. You realized it was currently running when warmth reached your hands. It was a marvel. The input threatened to overwhelm you entirely as you felt flesh shift temperature across your fingers and up into your arms. It entered through the scars and stiffened joints, moving gradually into the rest of you. You held your palms out to the iron door subconsciously seeking more, prompting Igor to tap your shoulder lightly.

"Ah, ah. Burns." He wagged a finger. You weren't sure what exactly he meant, but found that you trusted he had your best interests in mind. You retracted your hands into your lap and tracked him with your good eye as he searched through the cupboards and drawers.

Curiosity urged you to speak again. "What are you doing?"

"Improving your education." He pursed his lips, fumbling through a basket on the far counter.

His brows shot up along with the corners of his lopsided mouth as he finally seemed to find what he was looking for. His hand returned from the depths with a peach. Its skin was gold and red, and it looked soft under the lamplight. Somewhere in your brain, you could logically recognize the shape and category of the object, but you couldn't recall how you'd come upon this information. What does one do with a peach, again?

Igor came to you and beckoned for one of your hands, within which he placed the fruit. "This is one of life's most beautiful things." He stood back with his hands on his hips, a satisfied smile creating wrinkles at his eyes.

Your attention lingered on him for a few moments, parsing his meaning. You felt the skin of the fruit, the soft fuzz, turning it over in your palm to study the weight of it. Nerve endings in your fingertips alighted. It took a concerted effort not to crush the thing.

On the underside, you noticed a darker spot. It had more give than the rest when your thumb passed over the skin there. "It looks damaged."

"Well then, you have something in common already."

You lowered your eyes to your body, now covered by the cloak. Your sides ached. Why were you so relieved to not see it?

"Oh, er… that was meant to be encouragining." Igor stammered. He nudged your shoulder, then quickly tucked his hands against his sides in an effort to control his impulses. "I often lose something in the delivery... dignity, usually."

To return to the subject at hand, he made an effort to show you how to bite through the peach skin. This was done with a visual display, exaggerating the motion almost comically. You followed along and worked your jaw into the correct motion, scaled back a bit from his example. You were careful not to bite too hard, though all your muscles seemed keen to lunge and push as much as they were able. The flesh gave way beneath your teeth. Juice ran over your tongue, sweet and tangy. The sensation came over you so suddenly that, despite prior caution, your hand tightened around the fruit and bruised it slightly. You felt yourself make a startled sound, rising as a gargle in your throat. No reprimand came, however. Igor simply watched you. There was no notebook in his hand, nor was there an instrument of study waiting to be pressed against your body. He didn't ask what you felt or whether the response could be repeated. He just… smiled.

"Sticky, isn't it?" He came to sit on the other side of the table.

You blinked, then nodded wordlessly, caught in a slew of feelings you had no name for. You took another bite. It was softer this time after you'd gripped it so hard, but no less flavorful. If anything, the juice flowed more freely. Outside, the last clouds of the storm broke apart above the surrounding mountains. A little stream of moonlight entered through the kitchen window to lay across the table between you. You'd come into life beneath streaks of plasma, surrounded by wires and fire, more sensational a birth than mankind had ever seen. Yet… this was the first moment in which you felt truly alive, again. The simplicity of it was leagues more impactful.

Igor rested his chin upon the heel of his palm. "If you think this is nice…" He nodded to the window, noting your admiration of the moon. "Just you wait until tomorrow. I'll show you sunlight."

You returned your eye to him, curious. "Will it hurt?" Many of the things you'd experienced since beginning to move had hurt, and continued to at an alarming rate now that your nerves were re-mapping themselves.

"Hmmm… possibly. Nearly everything does at first." Igor looked up and to the side in a show of thought, though his eyes moved nearly independently, which gave off a whole different effect than he likely intended. "I'll bring an umbrella."

The word wasn't entirely familiar to you. A shape came to mind, but there was no meaning or function supplied with it. "Will that… help?"

"No idea. But! It will make us feel prepared."

You wanted to ask something about the significance of why feeling prepared would matter if you weren't actually, but… maybe that would be best explained another day. Igor looked pleased to just be sharing this simple thing with you. Just as well… this was about all you could handle. You finished the peach. Igor offered to dispose of the seed for you, claiming he tossed all of them out of the window in the hopes one might grow one day, but you felt reluctant to give it over. The pit rolled between your fingers, still a little sticky. The ridges were soothing to rub the pads of your fingers over as you thought. Igor observed this, and relented.

"I've got a few trinkets of my own, y'see…" He turned out one pocket to reveal a few small objects: a smooth, shiny green stone with dark brown veins, a softened bit of blue sea glass, and a wood-carved figure of a hound, no larger than the peach seed in your own hand. Your face twitched on either side, muscles contracting. You thought nothing of it, having dealt with strange nerve impulses for a bit now, until Igor chuckled. "There's a smile, now! Didn't think you had it in ya."

He clapped a hand on your shoulder, which made you flinch a little from the new input. He cursed and promised he'd remember to be more careful next time. Next time came, of course, and he promised to remember then, too. It didn't bother you so much, eventually, in the coming weeks. It was comforting to be in the company of someone more troubled by the idea of hurting you than the idea that you may hurt them.

“Igor!” He hears a voice, one of the other line cooks calling his name and from the way it’s spoken, he can tell it’s been said many times. He turns to Aubrey and she’s holding his hand, blood dripping from his middle finger. Well, that’s the last time he daydreams while chopping vegetables.

“I’ll clean this up, you go get cleaned up.” His mind is fuzzy as he nods, holding his finger as tight as he can, trying his best to not watch the blood. He’s never liked looking at it. It makes him feel sick, woozy. So he hurries to the sink as fast as he can to wash his hands yet again.

The cut is deep and he can’t even see if he’s washed off all of the blood because he just can’t look at it. The whole thing makes him sick to his stomach and he even goes as far as closing his eyes, shutting them tight because the soap is burning.

He knows that he probably (definitely) looks stupid, but he can’t help it. It’s not like you’re just going to waltz in and help him, even though that’s what he really wants. He wants you to baby him, knowing that will make him feel better.

As if you sense Igor’s need for you, you enter the kitchen, standing right next to the sink as you grab some lemons for one of the tables, cursing under your breath about how rude they were to you. You happen to catch sight of Igor as you pass and let out a chuckle at how goofy he looks, his eyes shut tight as he faces you. He’s always so serious so it’s amusing to see him like this.

“What are you doing?” You ask and his eyes are wide open and he gasps, stepping away from you, clearly in his own little world, having no idea that you were standing so close to him.

“Washing my hands,” he replies, pressing himself against the wall and you catch sight of his finger that has a huge chunk missing.

“Igor,” you gasp and reach for his hand, bringing his middle finger closer to your face so that you can get a better look at it. “What happened?”

“I cut it.”

“Yeah, no shit. But how?”

“Was too caught in my head and I chopped my finger instead of carrot.”

“Here, let me help you.” You keep holding his hand as you reach above you for the first aid kit. Once you have it, you set it on the sink and rifle through it before grabbing what you need. He sees you opening an alcohol pad and shakes his head furiously.

“No.” Is all he says and you feel bad for laughing but seeing this side of him is so goddamn adorable.

“Baby, we have to.” Baby, god. He’ll do whatever you want if you keep calling him that. He just slumps his shoulders and closes his eyes as he feels the wet cloth touch his skin, wincing at the feeling as you apologize again and again. “Okay, you can open your eyes. Bad part’s over.”

He does as you say even though you both know he doesn’t believe you then take some of the antibacterial gel and put it on the cut before wrapping it up in a bandaid. To finish it off, you press a kiss to it, watching his cheeks turn bright pink as you do so.

“Alright, you’re all set,” you pat his shoulder and turn on your heel like you didn’t do the one thing that’s going to live in his head rent free for the rest of his life. You kissed him. Well, his finger. But it still counts in his mind. And it even left behind some of your lipstick that he spent far too long staring at.

How can he go back to work after this? How can he move on after experiencing the sweetest thing that’s ever happened to him? He can’t believe that this is his life and that he actually exists at the same time as you. But of course he just has to crush on the girl who only flirts with him because it’s part of the job. Part of him wishes that it was genuine because then maybe he’d flirt back. But he supposes he should just stop complaining and take what he can get.

You grab your lemons and Igor is so close to asking for another kiss but decides against it. He’s still afraid of coming off like a creep and he doesn’t want to start now when he’s only gotten a sliver of what he’s been wanting for months. He’s wondering about just how much flirting he can get away with because he just wants you to know that this whole thing isn’t one sided.

Because after that you surely have to have feelings for him too, right? Not many people would do that kind of thing for him, but he’s wondering if he’s just reading too much into the interactions you’ve shared. The winks through the window, the fries, the little inside jokes you’ve made on occasion.

But he doesn’t do anything else, he just lets you walk back out as he goes back to chopping, trying his best to pay attention to his task so he doesn’t hurt himself again. He almost passed out at the sight of the blood so he’s sure he really would collapse if he saw more blood.

You head back out into the seating area feeling like such an idiot. Why did you kiss his finger? You were already crossing his boundaries by helping him without asking and then you let your want, your need to kiss him take over and settled for his finger instead of his lips. And now he probably thinks you’re a freak and you’re back to square one.

You wait on your tables and feel your cheeks burn as you bring your tickets to the window, not being able to look Igor in the eye. He must sense that you’re upset because you see him set a plate with a large pile of fries onto the counter and just by the size of the plate and the little ketchup smiley face on the edge of the plate, you just know that they’re for you.

You look up and he’s sporting his signature smirk as he flips the hamburger he’s got in his pan. You set them to the side and figure you’ll just eat them later even though they won’t be good. As much as you want to take your much deserved break, you know that Todd will look at the time clock and see that you clocked out for your lunch too early. So you just continue to serve your tables and try not to think about how hungry you are or when the last time you ate was.

You start to feel a little lightheaded but ignore it and try your best to ignore how much your stomach is growling. You have a job to do. But as you continue moving around the diner, you progressively get weaker, your legs feeling like jello.

When you come into the kitchen to get drinks for the table that just showed up, your knees buckle and Igor can immediately tell that you’re not feeling well. His current task is abandoned and he rounds the counter, heading for the drink station where you're standing. The drink you’re filling one of the cups with is overflowing and Igor quickly moves it to the side before turning you around to face him.

You almost look sick and just by hearing your stomach growl loudly, he immediately knows what you need. He picks you up and sets you on the counter since he knows you can’t stand then wordlessly hands you a bowl that’s filled with spaghetti. You’ve been talking about how you’ve been craving it for days and seeing that Igor went out of his way to make it for you makes you want to cry.

“Igor-”

“Thank me later. Eat.” He points to the bowl and you do as he says, slowly twirling the spaghetti around the fork before putting it into your mouth. He watches you look around for Todd, clearly on high alert until you feel Igor’s hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry about him.”

“Of course you would say that. He loves you, meanwhile he always wants to make my life a living hell.” Igor knows all about that and has had private conversations with Todd about you on multiple occasions, telling him to dial it back or else he’ll quit. But that never goes over well since Todd always waves him that it’s none of his business and then says something xenophobic that would definitely get him fired if anyone else heard him. But Igor refuses to let Todd get to him.

He doesn’t tell you that Todd actually tolerates Igor and only ever pats him on the back when you’re around because he knows just how important you are to the diner and all of the regulars. And if he loses you, he’s going to lose so much money. If it had been up to him, he would have fired Igor a long time ago.

You eat your spaghetti as Igor gets back to work, occasionally checking on you, his cheeks burning every time you compliment him, telling him that this is the best spaghetti you’ve ever had. His food gets complimented all the time but hearing it from you, it makes him feel all warm and gooey inside.

Being around you makes him feel like himself. Even though he’s hiding it from you, he still appreciates how warm and welcoming you are. You’re so sweet to him and always treat him like a normal person despite how much he struggles with English.

-

The next week, there’s two girls who take seats at the counter and you recognize them almost immediately. They had come in last weekend during a lunch rush and held up a table for hours and then didn’t leave you a tip. You try your best to put on your best customer service smile as you walk behind the counter with a couple of menus. You greet them politely and ask if you can get them drinks. You’re ignored so you say you’ll be back in a minute.

From across the dining room, you can see them huddled close together talking- giggling hushed whispers. You can’t prove it, but it’s one of those things that you can just tell immediately what they’re doing. The girl on the right, points to the kitchen and your gaze follows where she’s pointing. Your heart drops when you see they’re talking about Igor.

Irrational jealousy bubbles up inside you, not wanting this girl to be interested. You have no right to be upset. As far as you know, Igor is single and can date whoever he wants. It’s not really your business. However, it still stings. Returning back to them, you grab your drink orders and head back to get them their coffees.

“You have a fan club out there,” you joke to Igor, who you seem to have broken his own train of thought. His brow furrowed in confusion. “That girl,” you say, being discreet, “the one sitting at the counter with her friend- I think she’s into you.”

“Oh,” Igor says, monotone. He couldn’t have been more disinterested. He doesn’t even pay them any mind, continuing to prep the meals for another table. He’s completely in his own world when he’s focused in the kitchen.

You’re pleased when it seems like he doesn’t care, but then you worry that he’s just trying to play it cool. Maybe he is actually interested in her but doesn’t want to talk about it with you. You try your best to let it go, and try to not compare yourself to her.

“What’s his deal?” The girl asks you, biting her lip. It makes your stomach tie in knots. You want to slam the window of the kitchen shut so they can stop staring at him.

“The cook?” You ask, stuttering a little- surprised they’re asking you about him so directly. She nods, staring past you to look at him. You could scream.

“Mhm,” she muses.

“Um, I’m not really sure,” you say. “Do you guys want to order something to eat?”

“Him, preferably,” she jokes and you cringe as her friend giggles. When you don’t laugh, they just order some sandwiches and you ring in their ticket. When they leave, she leaves a note on the receipt, asking you to give him her number. Great.

“Here,” you say, trying to hide your hurt as you hand Igor the receipt paper. His eyes narrow as he doesn’t even notice the note at first.

“They tipped like shit,” he muses, sympathizing with you. He hates that people don’t always appreciate you or your work. He doesn’t even realize that you’re trying to show him something else. It’s been a long shift and he’s overtired.

“Oh, yeah,” you say, surprised- you hadn’t even thought to see what they had tipped. “No, but here,” you point to the note on the bottom. “It’s for you.”

Igor squints, trying to read the handwriting. His expression remains neutral. He shrugs, and crumbles it up and throws the note away. “You already rang it in right?” He asks, and you nod dumbly. “Then I don’t see the problem.”

“What about the number?” You ask, trying not to seem too happy that he tossed the receipts away without a care in the world.

“Who cares?” He shrugs. “It’s just a number and she’s not my type.”

“Then what is your type?” You’re surprised at how bold you’re being considering you’ve been more shy around him tonight.

“Why do you care?” He’s getting frustrated now because all he wants to do is go home and not have this weird back and forth with you. He can’t tell you that you’re his type.

“Oh, I don’t.” You’re both clocking out now and he stands next to you, patiently waiting for you to be done because the other screen is, of course, down yet again.

“Then why did you ask?” You know exactly why you asked but are too afraid to tell him. You don’t know why, though. Maybe telling him the truth would prevent the headache it’s caused you.

“I don’t know.” That’s all you’re able to say and then the two of you are silent as you head towards the back door, Igor making sure to lock up behind you before escorting you to your car. You pull your keys out of the purse then turn around to face Igor who’s still standing there, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

What’s stopping you from being honest? Sure, it may make things awkward between you, but at the same time, you’d rather have that than push down your feelings again and again.

So you step closer to him, tilting your head upwards to look him in the eye. He doesn’t know what you’re doing, but he likes being able to see your face up close. He loves being able to see every single detail and you’re cute little glasses. He thinks he prefers them.

“I like you,” you tell him, your heart now pounding in your chest. “I like you a lot and I know you probably don’t feel the same way-”

“Stop,” he puts his hand up and you’re so close to crying, terrified that he’s going to reject you and that your weird little friendship will be put to a stop. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Igor,” you roll your eyes. “We both know you don’t have feelings for me, so you can stop-” You’re not even able to finish your sentence because he’s got you pinned against the car, his body flush against yours as he presses his lips to yours in a searing kiss.

You gasp into his mouth but are quick to catch up, kissing him back with the same amount of longing and passion. It’s months of pent of feelings poured into the kiss, everything you’ve wanted to say but haven’t had the guts to.

He pulls away just a tad, his thumb running back and forth along your jaw. You just stare at him, almost dumbfounded by what just happened. You never thought this would ever be your reality so you just need a minute to sit with it.

“I hope that proved you wrong,” he whispers and you grab onto his hips, pulling him even closer.

“I don’t know, I think I need a little more,” you reply, pulling him in again for another kiss. This one is more gentle, slower, like you both are trying to savor it because you’re not sure when you’re going to share another one.

Igor pulls away again far too soon and presses his forehead against yours, trying to catch his breath again.

“Have dinner with me.” It’s less of a demand and more like him pleading. He wants this so badly, more than he’s ever wanted anything.

“Like a date?”

“Something like that,” he shrugs but you know what he means.

“Perfect. I’ll cook for you.” He’s never had your cooking so he’s looking forward to it.

“How about next week?” He’s trying to give you space. He doesn’t want to come on too strong.

“How about tomorrow?” He can’t help but smile at the fact that you can’t wait.

“We have to work,” you remind him and for a second, he completely forgot, just looking forward to seeing you outside of that tiny diner.

“After that.”

“It’s a date,” he winks and gives you one more kiss before turning on his heel and making his way towards his own vehicle, not being able to keep the smile off of his face because for once, he finally got the girl.

-

God why did you think you could do this? Sweat is making your hair stick to your forehead and your glasses keep fogging up as you glance into the pot trying to stir. The tutorial online made it look so easy, you thought this time you’d have luck and not burn something for once in your life. You’re up to your elbows in the mess you’ve made for yourself and you’re starting to feel defeated.

Igor told you so many anecdotes of his grandmother teaching him how to cook as he was growing up. You wanted to make something really special, so you tried to look up one of the meals he’d mentioned in passing. The blog made it seem somewhat doable but now you’re not so sure as you're fanning a towel above your head to prevent the smoke detector from going off.

You hear the buzzer go off. He’s here. Fuck. Reluctantly, you hurry over to the box on the wall to open the front door for him. You wipe your forehead and glance back over to the mess in your kitchen. You feel like you could cry. This is not at all how you imagined tonight would go at all. You knew it wouldn’t be perfect- but at least edible would have sufficed.

When you answer the door, Igor immediately can tell you’re holding back tears. Without even needing to ask he places the flowers he brought you on your entry table and takes your hands. He looks so concerned and it’s so endearing that it’s enough to make one of the tears fall, despite your best attempt to hold them back.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, scanning your face to make sure you’re not hurt. He steps over the threshold and he can smell the burnt smell coming from your kitchen.

“I’m so sorry,” you say meekly as he surveys the kitchen. The messily chopped onions, the open bottle of wine, the spilled can of tomato paste, the burnt lamb you tried to grill… when he realizes what you’re doing, it makes his heart flip.

“Were you making Khorovats?” He asks, unable to hold back his smile. You nod, not able to meet his eye. He doesn’t hesitate to pull you against his chest. No one has ever done something this thoughtful and despite not having dinner, he feels like the absolute luckiest guy in the world. His first task is to comfort you, and he rubs your back. He reaffirms that everything is okay.

“Hey, hey,” he says gently, tilting your chin up to look at him. You take a few shaky breaths as your eyes meet his. “You’re… you’re wonderful,” he whispers and then kisses your lips softly- just a small peck. “Let me help you.”

He guides you over to one of the stools by your kitchen island and has you take a seat. Like he’s been to your apartment a million times before, he finds the wine glasses with ease and pours you a glass. You watch him maneuver around your kitchen effortlessly, and he’s able to salvage something from the ingredients you hadn’t used yet.

“I really wanted to cook for you,” you say defeatedly, as you calm down. He’s always cooking at work, and you wanted to cook for him- so he wasn’t for once. Yet, here he is, on your first date doing the one thing you wanted to give him a break from. He just looks back at you, with a smile on his face.

“You’re cute,” he says, sincerely. It makes your face feel so flushed and you feel butterflies in your stomach at his compliment. It’s so simple, but it’s coming from him. You finally let yourself enjoy the moment, and watch him as he seems to throw everything together so effortlessly.

“No one has done this for me,” he continues, gesturing to the messy kitchen. To him, as much as you're embarrassed, it’s just a sign of your effort and hard work. You did all of this- found the recipe, bought the ingredients, prepared them as best you could for him. He’s just so touched by the gesture regardless of the outcome. He can’t even remember telling you about this dish, but you remembered. “It’s amazing,” he marvels.

“I literally almost set my apartment on fire,” you say, hiding your face in your hands. It makes him chuckle.

“Come on,” he insists, “give yourself some credit.”

He puts a plate together for you and you thank him. The two of you move to your small dining table, and he notices you set up with some tapered candles, like a fancy restaurant would. Everything you’ve done to try to make the night perfect just makes his heart swell. He finds you so sweet.

For so long, Igor was convinced that he was destined to be alone and just when he was giving up on love completely, you swept him off his feet, making him feel like he never has before. You’re one of the only people who truly understands him, who lets him be himself and for the first time in his life, he doesn’t feel like he has to wear his mask.

-

You and Igor are closing with each other yet again. It’s been the third night this week and you’re nothing but happy about it, always looking forward to getting even more alone time with your new boyfriend. You can’t believe it. He’s your boyfriend now. You thought you’d spend the rest of your time at the diner pining for him and when he kissed you in the parking lot, you were sure that you were dreaming for just a second. It wasn’t until he put his lips on yours that you realized that it was all real.

And now that you’re alone, he’s not shy about being affectionate as you wipe down the counters together. And maybe the entire thing takes you a little too long because of all of the giggling and kissing but it’s not like anyone is there to stop you. Everyone including Todd went home hours ago and now you’re sitting on the counter, Igor standing in between your legs as he kisses you like hasn’t been doing just that the moment the two of you were alone.

His hands are sliding up your bare thighs, getting under your uniform as he licks into your mouth, leaning forward as you lie back against the counter. You moan into his mouth and as his tongue moves against yours, your hands grabbing onto his shirt. He kisses his way down to your neck, your exposed chest, slowly, gently unzipping your uniform as his lips find yours again.

His hand slips into your uniform, giving one of your breasts a squeeze and you whine as he does so, caught off guard by the feeling. But it feels so good. You wonder if it’s just because you haven’t been touched by him in so long but you know it’s really because it’s him and he always seems to know what you want without even having to ask.

“So fucking pretty,” he says through ragged breaths.

“You haven’t even-seen me naked,” you suck in a breath that break up your sentence as he bites down on your neck.

“Doesn’t matter.” His breath is hot on your skin but you can still feel goosebumps rising on your arms. “You’re always pretty.” He bites down again and your nails dig into his back as you let out another moan, your panties now absolutely drenched.

He’s unbuckling his pants in a flash as you remove your underwear, neither of you even thinking about proper protection, but just wanting, needing to have him inside of you or you’re sure you’re both going to explode.

You don’t even get the chance to see his cock before it slides inside, the loudest moan falling from your lips at the sheer size of him. It hurts so bad because of your inactivity, but it also just feels so good.

He’s pumping hard and fast, making the metal counter shake back and forth, the legs knocking loudly against the floor, the whole thing squeaking as it moves, but neither of you seem to care, too engrossed in each other to even pay attention.

“Fuck,” you whine as he’s progressively getting further inside, inch by inch, practically tearing you apart. Your legs wrap around his waist as you pull his shirt off, needing to get your hands on his bare skin. You need to scratch it up to show him exactly what he’s doing to you.

He pushes everything aside as he lays you down onto the counter, vegetables now inedible and various condiment bottles and spices now spilled out all over the floor, but Igor doesn’t care. Being here with you, having you spread on the counter like an all-you-can eat buffet is so going to be worth whatever is going to be taken out of his paycheck.

Your uniform is fully open now, the zipper of it clicking against the counter as Igor continues to fuck into you, his nails digging into your thighs, making tiny crescent shapes that you know will stay there for days. You don’t seem to mind, though. He can make you bleed for you all you care. You just want him to continue to make you feel this good.

“That’s a good girl,” he says, his hands now pinning your arms to the counter. “Look at you, taking me-all of me so well.”

You’re close, you can already feel it. It’s climbing but you don’t want him to stop. He’s doing this so well, making you feel like no one else has. He knows exactly what you want-what you need without even having to ask.

“Fuck,” you moan even louder and Igor watches you proudly, a smug smirk making its way upon his face at the mess he’s made of you. With how blissed out you look, he’s already wondering what excuse he’s going to have you both make in order to not have to work tomorrow.

“That’s it,” he says, his voice gentle, soft, almost a whisper. “Just like that, baby.” You’re coming down from your orgasm and he’s worn out, not only from this, but also the shift. He pulls out and pulls up his pants before hurrying over to the sink to get a warm wash cloth before cleaning you up. Your uniform is covered in unspeakable stains so Igor politely loans you his shirt, promising to let you wash it as his place where the two of you inevitably end up.

You’ve never been to his house, always winding up at your place, snuggled up on the couch. You’re giggling as you walk through the door, not even bothering to be quiet and it’s not until one of the lights in the kitchen flicks on there remembers that he doesn’t live alone.

He’s quick to stand in front of you, covering you with his body so his grandmother doesn’t see that you’re wearing his t-shirt and boxers. His cheeks are bright red as she stands on the other side of the kitchen, tsking and shaking her head before turning around to head back to her room, saying something to him in Armenian that you clearly don’t understand.

“What did she say?” You ask and Igor just waves it off.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, picking you up since he knows you can’t get up the stairs in your condition. “Let’s go to bed.”

Igor carries you up the stairs as if it’s nothing and you’re beginning to think that you’ve underestimated just how strong he is. Of course you wouldn’t know that with his job, but now you’re wondering what he does when he’s not there. How often he goes to the gym, his workout routine. And now you’re getting wet all over again thinking about him lifting weights, sweat rolling down his biceps.

His room is exactly what you imagined. It’s just a bed and his furniture. There’s no decorations or anything that tells you anything about him. But you kind of like it that way. It’s very…Igor.

He helps you into the bed, pulling back the blanket and sheet for you and you slip in, making yourself comfortable as he goes to the other side and gets in, scooting close to you. You turn over on your side and he pulls you to his chest, giving you a squeeze before pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Goodnight,” you say, going in for one more kiss and he just smiles into it.

“Goodnight,” he replies before falling into the best sleep he’s ever had.

-

The next morning, Igor wakes up and you’re not there. He reaches out and runs his hand along your side and it’s cold, meaning that you’ve been up for a while. He gets up and checks the bathroom, but you’re not there. He doesn’t know why, but he’s panicking that you’re not there, hoping that you didn’t leave him in the middle of the night.

But he immediately relaxes when he hears shuffling in the kitchen. He slowly makes his way down the stairs and his heart swells when he hears laughter as he enters the kitchen. You’re sitting at the table with his grandmother, the two of you chatting over breakfast. His face breaks out into a full-on grin when he hears the two of you laughing loudly, heads throwback, expressing nothing but pure joy.

“Igor,” she waves him over from where he’s standing, leaning against the doorframe. “сидеть,” [“sit”] she gestures to the chair that’s across from hers. He makes his way over and stands behind you, pressing a kiss to your cheeks, his hands giving your shoulders a squeeze before he sits at the table.

“You didn’t wake me,” he tells you, the worry back on his face.

“I’m sorry. You just looked so peaceful. And you were snoring so I didn’t think I should.” He feels like his heart is going to burst at how sweet you are to him.

“Don’t apologize. I was just worried.”

“Aww.” You reach over and pinch his cheek which seems to make his grandmother laugh.

“она мне нравится,” [“I like her”] she says, looking back and forth between the two of you. “она хороша для тебя.” [“She is good for you”] “ты кажешься счастливее.” [“You seem happier”]

“я счастливее,” [“I am happier”] he replies, resting his hand on top of yours, his eyes lighting up as he puts on a warm smile.

“Я тоже счастлив,” [“I’m happy too”] you speak up and Igor’s eyes widen. In the entire time that you’ve known him, he’s never heard you speak Russian, didn’t even know that you were fluent.

“You know Russian?” He asks, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“I-well, I learned it to be able to speak to you, but then got too nervous because I got insecure about my accent.” It’s at this moment that Igor is sure that he’s in love with you. That’s the only word he can think of to describe what he’s feeling. No one has ever done anything like that for him and knowing that you were willing to learn his language in order just to speak to him shows him that maybe you love him right back.

“я тебя люблю,” [“I love you”] he says, leaning forward, not even caring that his grandmother is watching because he just really needs to kiss you.

“я люблю тебя еще больше,” [“I love you more”] you reply as he presses his lips to yours, both of you smiling into the kiss before pulling away, nothing but love for each other in your eyes.

“Мое кольцо будет наверху, когда ты будешь готова выйти замуж,” [“My ring is upstairs when you’re ready to get married”] his grandmother comments and the three of you laugh even though you all know there’s a hint of seriousness in your tone.

You spend the rest of the day at his house, the three of you migrating to the couch where they both teach you how to crochet, his grandmother’s Russian program playing on the tv softly in the background.