Big Shot (Dimitri Petrenko X Reader)

Ruski-Senpai and the Motor Homo

Dimitri walks into the bar, his blonde hair swaying and bouncing on his shoulders like a happy octopus. He takes a vodka bottle out of his red Adidas tracksuit and takes a swig of the burning alcoholic liquid. The cute dude squats on the floor of the bar with all the other gopniks. He feels like an outsider, being the only person who isn't spitting sunflower seeds onto people who just came off the dance floor. 

As you walk in, you notice him. A fluffy blonde dressed head to toe in red Adidas, except for his ushanka and cop sunglasses. His shoes are only a different shade of red. What connects him to the floor is a shade of deep, greyish burgundy with cool gradient stripes of white. You can't make yourself pass up the opportunity to sit with this guy and see the full extent of who he is. He takes a shy sip of vodka from the bottle in his jacket. His sunglasses tilt just enough for you to see beyond them. Boy, do his eyes look cute.

Going to one of the spicy leather chairs in the lounge whilst maintaining eye contact with the Russian guy is a mildly dangerous idea, but you do it to impress him. The small line of crowd passes you without much of a struggle. Eventually, Dimitri follows. He sits in the armchair right next to you and smiles, pretending he isn't nervous. Looking away from you to mask his shyness, he takes out a vodka bottle and drinks it quickly. You're surprised he can handle so much alcohol at once. His face is going red like the jacket he's unzipping, and you can tell the heat of the building is getting to him. "Aw, blyat..." He pours some liquid from the bottle into his hand and wipes it on his forehead. You wonder why he doesn't just take off his ushanka.

"Why are you wasting vodka on your face? I mean, your face is cute enough to not be a waste, but..."

"It's actually water," Dimitri whispers to you quickly with his very kawaii Ruski accent. "I just want to look cool."

"You do." You smile at him.

"Wait, did I hear you call me cute a second ago?"

Your face becomes a tomato that you suddenly want to cover. "Yeah, maybe..." For some reason you're embarrassed by him knowing what you think about his face. Your ears suddenly catch a fabulous beat. You cover up the previous conversation nervously with a loud observation. "This music is good, eh?" Before he even answers, you drag him by the hand to the strobe lights of the dance floor. Trying to control your nerves, you dance wildly with rapid foot movements. 

"You look... Like a rabid clown," Dimitri laughs. He does have a point. Still, you're embarrassed. "Come on, let's dance." A hardbass version of Gangnam Style pumps from the speakers.

As time goes on, it becomes clear that neither one of you are good dancers, but it becomes one of the things that bonds you. You can't help think about bonding your lips as well...