Omg yesss can you write for Enzo where Reader is kind of known-ish for not ever showing interest in guys, always saying no to dates and stuff, but when Hopper pulls up with Enzo at the end of season four Reader is severely attracted to him? Like, super flirty, super straightforward, and everyone is just like ????huh???
Now, who is THAT?
Dmitri Antonov x Reader
A/N: I love this request so much. Hope it's alright.
Everyone in Hawkins knew one thing about her: She did NOT flirt. Not ever, not with anyone. Guys had tried — awkward high school classmates, overeager co-workers, even that one firefighter who had been basically a walking thirst trap — and she had turned all of them down with polite indifference. So when Hopper showed up at her door with a tired-looking stranger from Russia, nobody expected anything.
Hopper opened the front door and closed it after Dmitri and himself before the cold air managed to get too far inside. “Joyce! We’re here!”
Joyce stepped into the hallway, smiling warmly, but then paused when Dmitri stepped in behind Hopper, quiet and cautious. Just behind Joyce, she appeared. She had been helping Joyce unpack the groceries for the dinner, sleeves rolled up, hair messy in a way that was definitely not intentional but very distracting. She froze for a beat, her eyes locking on Dmitri, who froze as well. Something in her brain glitched.
Oh.
Oh.
She had never had a type, not until now. No man had ever interested her enough to progress further than small-talk or platonic relationship, but this stranger who had just stepped inside the house made her brain and body function in a completely new way. He hadn’t even said a word to her yet, but she could tell this man was nothing like the men she had previously met.
Dmitri offered a stiff nod. “Hello,” he said gently, in that deep accented voice that hit her like a punch to the lungs.
Hopper opened his mouth to speak, but no one heard him because—
“Oh,” she breathed out louder than intended, but slow like she had just discovered the concept of attraction for the first time. “Hello, there.” She smiled, but not her usual, polite and mild smile. A slow and warm, flirty-as-hell smile she had literally never used on another human being. She looked at him from head to toe and stepped a little closer than necessary. “So, you must be Enzo.”
Dmitri swallowed, feeling the urge to take a step back just by the look in her eyes but stayed still on his spot. “My name is Dmitri, actually.”
“Mm,” she hummed, smiling. “I like both.”
Hopper could only stare and so did Joyce, both of their jaws dropped. Dmitri, for his part, stood with a posture that suggested he was ready to be interrogated, arrested or tackled, but not flirted with. His confusion deepened when her chin tilted, confidence radiating off her in a way none of them had ever seen before.
She extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Dmitri.”
He hesitated, then reached for her hand. She didn’t shake it, but held it. Warm, firm, lingering just long enough for him to temporarily forget English.
“I, ah, yes. Is… nice,” he managed to stutter.
Hopper kept watching her as if she had been replaced by an alien. She, who had turned down every date, ignored every flirty remark, rolled her eyes at every man who had tried to charm her, were now looking at Dmitri with unmistakable interest. She stepped again a little closer, while Dmitri stepped back instinctively, bumping into a coat rack.
“Do you always retreat,” she asked lightly, “or am I special?”
Dmitri blinked rapidly. “I, I do not know how to answer that.”
Joyce clapped a hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh at the situation and Dmitri’s awkwardness. Hopper dragged a hand down his face.
She finally released Dmitri’s hand, only to angle herself just slightly into his space again. Hopper and Joyce were trying to process what they had just witnessed. The girl who had never so much as smiled at a man in a suggestive way, was now leaning casually toward Dmitri Antonov, who was standing as rigid as a soldier on parade.
Hopper pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve seen a lot in my life,” he muttered to Joyce, “but I swear, this… this is a miracle.”
Joyce nodded solemnly. “I think we just witnessed the impossible.”
Meanwhile, Dmitri’s carefully maintained Russian composure had completely collapsed. He opened his mouth to respond and froze again, caught in the thrill of being openly flirted with for the first time in a very, very long time.
She tilted her head and smiled at him, utterly confident and completely fearless. “You know,” she said, letting her voice drop to a teasing whisper, “I wasn’t expecting you to be so… handsome.”
Dmitri’s cheeks turned red. “I… I am flattered,” he stuttered.
Hopper groaned. “This is worse than any hostage situation.”
Joyce leaned on Hopper’s shoulder, whispering, “He’s so obviously nervous.”
“So,” she continued with an air of casual seduction, “how long are you staying?”
“I, I do not know yet,” he replied, still flustered, still not breathing normally.
“Well,” she said with a dazzling smile, “I hope it’s long enough for us to get to know each other.”
“Hoooly shit,” Hopper muttered.
Joyce elbowed him sharply but didn’t deny it. Dmitri stared at her like she was something dangerous, but intriguing. Very intriguing.
“I… suppose that could be… nice?” he replied cautiously, like any word of his could trigger a bomb.
She stepped back at last, giving Dmitri a playful wink before disappearing into the kitchen again, leaving him looking like he had just survived a natural disaster. Only when she was out of sight did Dmitri exhale, rubbing the back of his neck.
“She…” A pink tint had spread on his cheeks, as he looked helplessly at Hopper. “Is she always like that?”
Hopper snorted. “No. Never, not once. What the hell did you do?”
“I did nothing!” Dmitri protested.
Joyce beamed. “Well, Dmitri… welcome to America.”
—
A little while later, Dmitri approached Hopper in private.
“Jim,” Dmitri whispered.
Hopper sighed. “What’s up?”
Dmitri glanced toward the kitchen where she was talking to Joyce, laughing at something. Every time she laughed, Dmitri’s eyes flicked toward her like he couldn’t help it. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, flustered red already.
“Jim,” he repeated, lower. “I need… explanation.”
“About what?”
Dmitri pointed vaguely in her direction, whispering like he was discussing nuclear codes. “She talks to me,” he started. “In… way.”
Hopper narrowed his eyes. “A way?”
“Yes.” Dmitri nodded urgently. “Way.” He gestured wildly with his hands, then gave up. “I do not understand this way.”
“What way?”
Dmitri leaned forward, he was dead serious. “The way where my face gets hot.” Hopper let out a laugh before he could stop himself, but Dmitri just scowled. “I am serious, Jim.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay, sorry,” Hopper muttered, rubbing his mouth to hide a grin. “So you’re saying, she flusters you.”
“Yes!” Dmitri hissed. “She says things, looks at me like…” He searched for the word in English, and his jaw tightened in frustration.
Hopper helped. “Like she was interested?”
“Yes,” he said stiffly.
“And that bothers you?” Hopper asked carefully.
Dmitri opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “I do not know,” he admitted. “She is very… Pretty.”
Hopper tried very hard not to laugh because Dmitri looked like saying that word physically pained him.
“Okay,” Hopper said slowly. “So you don’t dislike it.”
“I did not say that!” Dmitri blurted.
“Then what are you saying?”
Dmitri dragged a hand down his face. “Jim… I have not flirted. Since before prison. Before—“ He stopped, swallowing hard. “Long time.” Hopper softened. Dmitri’s voice lowered even more, almost embarrassed. “And she looks at me like… like she knows what she is doing. Like she wants me to look back, and I do not know if I should.” He avoided Hopper’s eyes. “I do not want to insult her.”
Hopper raised his eyebrows. “So, you want to know if she’s actually flirting.”
“Yes.”
“And what you’re supposed to do.”
Dmitri groaned. “Da.”
Hopper chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, keep in mind: she has never flirted with ANY guy in Hawkins, ever. Not one.”
Dmitri’s head snapped up. “No one?”
“Nope.”
Dmitri’s entire expression changed. Surprise first, then something else. Something warmer, something he tried to hide.
Hopper lowered his voice. “So if she’s flirting with you, she means it.”
Dmitri went stock-still, breath caught and eyes wide. “Jim,” he said very quietly. “I do not think anyone has meant something like that to me in long time.”
Hopper softened again. “Hey.” He nudged him. “You don’t have to rush anything. Just, be yourself. You’re a good guy.”
Dmitri let out a long breath, like he had been holding the air in his lungs since he left Russia. Then he looked toward the kitchen where she was smiling at Joyce, but Dmitri wasn’t close enough to hear what they were talking about.
Dmitri’s voice was almost a whisper when he muttered again, “She is very… pretty.”
Hopper laughed quietly and shook his head.
Dmitri furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s funny?”
“It just,” Hopper chuckled. “Dmitri, you survived a Russian prison. The KGB. You fought the monster that ate everyone else in the prison.”
Dmitri straightened. “Yes. That is correct.”
Hopper raised one finger. “And she, SHE makes you nervous. By just existing. By talking. Just by being pretty. She hasn’t even touched you yet. And you, someone who’s faced death and the KGB, are practically melting like a popsicle.”
Dmitri exhaled shakily, hands clenching.
“Antonov, you need to relax. Be yourself. She likes you, alright? You don’t have to fight monster or survive interrogations to impress her. You just… exist around her and somehow that’s terrifying to you.”
Dmitri looked back into her and Joyce’s way.
“The prison, it did not have women there,” Dmitri tried to defend himself. “I am not used to something like this.”
“You’ll learn,” Hopper smirked.
Meanwhile, she found herself in the kitchen with Joyce, helping clean up, but Joyce had clearly been itching to talk.
“So,” Joyce began, drying a plate and giving her a sidelong glance, “you’re… flirting with him.”
She raised an eyebrow, loading the dishwasher casually. “Am I?”
Joyce put the plate down and leaned against the counter, folding her arms. “Let me remind you of some of the guy who’ve been… very much into you over the years.”
Her, curious despite herself, leaned in slightly. “Alright, list them.”
Joyce’s eyes sparkled as she recounted: “There was that firefighter, very handsome, anyone would have died to get his attention. He asked you out and you were like, ‘no thanks but we can be friends’. He was shredded, by the way.” She let out a laugh at the memory, but Joyce continued seriously, “And the one who used to volunteer at the animal shelter, always flexing his… well, you know.” Joyce lowered her voice for dramatic effect. “And don’t even get me started on the cute neighbor with the dog, he practically tried to move in just to see you more.”
Her lips twitched into a small smile. “Okay, yeah, I remember them. And?”
“And now,” Joyce continued, shaking her head slightly in disbelief, “you’re flirting with him. The man Hopper dragged out of a Russian prison. And you just, you just swoop in right at the doorstep?”
She leaned against the counter, folding her arms, and gave Joyce a shrug. “Alright, I guess that sounds a little strange when you put it at way.”
“Is it the accent? Or the brooding ex-prisoner thing?”
She laughed quietly.
“I’ve known you for a long time. I’ve never seen you act like this. Not with anyone," Joyce said, but the expression on her face softened.
She thought about it for a moment, really tried to think, until turned back to Joyce. “Well. Maybe I just like staying unpredictable.”
—
A while later, the room had settled into a tense sort of silence, Dmitri still recovering from the last onslaught of her unexpected charm. Hopper and Joyce were pretending to look busy, badly, while absolutely eavesdropping. She tapped her fingers against the table, studying Dmitri like she was weighing a choice. Then, with her usual lack of hesitation, she stepped right into his personal space.
“Dmitri,” she called calmly.
“Yes?” He straightened instantly, as if she had barked a military order.
She held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “Do you have a woman in your life?”
Hopper choked on absolutely nothing. Joyce slapped a hand over her mouth.
Dmitri, for his part, went absolutely rigid. “I… what?”
She arched a brow. “It’s a simple question.”
“I… I do not… No. No woman.” He cleared his throat violently. “I mean, I am not with… no.” Every sentence ended in defeat.
She smiled, satisfied, almost triumphant. “Good.”
Dmitri blinked rapidly, almost offended. “Good?” he echoed, voice unintentionally soft.
She nodded, leaning her hip against the table like she had all the time in the world. “Yes. Good.” Then, without mercy, “I’d hate to think I was wasting my time.”
Dmitri’s mouth opened and closed twice like he was trying to reboot. “Wasting… your time?” His accent thickened noticeably.
"Mhm," she hummed, looking very pleased at herself.
Joyce whispered to Hopper, “Is she interrogating him or flirting with him?”
“I don’t know. Both?” Hopper whispered back. “God help the man.”
Dmitri had spent at least half an hour practicing words in his head. How did people flirt with each other these days? She was younger than him, quite a lot if he had to estimate, so were there differences to flirting compared to young and old? Was American flirting different than Russian? He couldn’t steal her lines she had used on him.
You look nice. Your hair is pretty. Simple. Not dramatic. Not too forward. American flirting, easy.
Except it wasn’t. Because when she looked at him now, really looked directly into his eyes, Dmitri’s brain simply stopped working. She had teased him, brilliantly and effortlessly. Dmitri decided now was the moment to flirt back. Just tell her what you have practiced, he thought. Compliment her hair, simple. Say the line. He opened his mouth, and the line instantly evaporated.
“You…” he started, then paused, searching for anything in the English language. “You are… having hair today.”
She lifted her brows, a little taken aback. “What?”
Dmitri froze. Hopper, from the other side of the room, choked on his coffee. Joyce whispered, “Oh no.”
But Dmitri forced himself to continue, refusing to abort the mission. “It is…” He gestured awkwardly around her hair. “You hair is being very… there.”
She stared. Confused, amused and concerned all at once.
He tried again, starting to panic. “It is nice. I am saying it is nice hair.”
Joyce covered her mouth. Hopper muttered, “Jesus Christ, man.”
She, however, began to grin, delighted and eyes sparkling. “My hair is… being very there, huh?”
Dmitri swallowed. “Da.”
She stepped closer. “You trying to flirt with me, Dmitri Antonov?”
He went still, very still. His voice dropped half an octave. “Maybe.”
She took a slow sip of her coffee, eyes locked on him, savoring every fraction of his fluster. “Well,” she murmured, “you can keep practicing on me.” She leaned in just a little. “And next time, maybe try telling me what you really noticed.”
Dmitri swallowed hard. “What I… really noticed?”
She smiled like she already knew his answer. “Yes.”
He stared at her, heart thundering, Hopper mouthing say something, Joyce mouthing not the hair again. And then, somehow, Dmitri found the courage Hopper swore he had:
“You look…” he said, sincerity overtaking panic, “beautiful.”
She was the one to freeze this time. Her lips parted, her breath caught and her cheeks flushed.
Dmitri instantly panicked again. “I mean, good. Not beautiful. Well, yes, beautiful, but not—“
She laughed, warm and touched, and stepped even closer.
“Dmitri,” she murmured, “stop while you’re adorably ahead.”
His cheeks went pink.
Hopper muttered, “Dear God, it actually worked.”
Joyce elbowed him. “Shh, let him have this.”
“Maybe later… you tell me how to flirt more in American,” Dmitri suggested.
She grinned slowly. “Gladly.”
Dmitri Antonov, for the first time being in America, realized that flirting might actually be survivable.
—
Dmitri was minding his own business, sitting at the kitchen table, quietly drinking tea, doing absolutely nothing wrong, when he felt a heavy hand slap on his shoulder. He almost jumped out of his skin. Hopper stood behind him, looking like a man who had rehearsed a speech in the mirror and hated every second of it.
“Walk with me.”
Dmitri froze. “Why?”
Hopper narrowed his eyes. “Because I said so.”
Dmitri stood immediately. Nobody would dare to disobey Jim Hopper when he used that tone. Hopper lead him out to the driveway. Hands in pockets, jaw tight, silence heavy as a brick. Dmitri swallowed, feeling like he was suddenly in trouble.
“You are… angry?” he asked carefully.
“No,” Hopper denied, but the tone of his voice very much meant: Yes. Very. Dmitri straightened, ready for interrogation. Hopper sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered: “Jesus, I hate this part.”
“What part?”
“The part where I have to give you the ‘talk’.”
Dmitri tensed so hard he could snap.
“Oh god,” Hopper muttered, kicking a pebble. “Okay. Look.” He turned to Dmitri, serious and solid as a wall. “I have known her for almost ten years.” Dmitri nodded respectfully. “She’s family. Basically a little sister.” Another nod. “And if you,“ Hopper pointed a thick finger at him, “hurt her, I swear to God, I will put your ass on the first plane straight back to Russia.”
Dmitri stiffened and his eyes widened. He was very sure Hopper could make good on that threat.
“I understand,” he said quietly. “I would never hurt her.”
Hopper grunted. “Yeah? Well, you seem like a good guy. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
Hopper shrugged. “You were in a Russian prison when I met you. Hard to ignore.” Dmitri winced. Fair. Hopper stepped closer, voice low and honest. “She’s been through a lot. More than most people her age ever should, and she hasn’t… really dated. Not seriously. So if she’s looking at you like that and you’re looking back? Then this isn’t something casual. Understand?”
Dmitri nodded once, firmly. “Yes.”
Hopper stared at him for a moment, as if weighing him, measuring his soul. Dmitri kept steady, until finally Hopper sighed.
“Good. Because she’s important to me, and if you treat her right, I won’t… you know…”
“Kick me back to Russia?” Dmitri offered.
Hopper smirked. “Exactly.” There was a long pause. “Alright, I’m done threatening you. Let’s go back inside.”
Dmitri exhaled, relieved. Then Hopper clapped his enormous hand on Dmitri’s back so hard he stumbled.
“And Antonov?” Hopper added.
“Yes?”
“I’ll be watching.”
Dmitri nodded quickly. “Yes. I know.”
—
For a moment, the room was quiet. Just Dmitri standing there trying to remember how lungs functioned, her watching him with that warm, wicked smile, and Hopper and Joyce pretending to reorganize papers while obviously eavesdropping. She turned back to her notes, humming softly, clearly pleased with the direction things had gone. Dmitri swallowed hard. His heart was pounding, but beneath the nerves he felt something else, something steady, something brave.
She liked it. She liked me.
He felt the courage crackle again, the same reckless surge that had pushed him to flirt back. Before he could think better of it, before caution could reclaim him, he stepped closer and called for her name, voice low and careful.
She looked up, eyebrows lifting. “Yes?”
Dmitri hesitated. Every instinct from a lifetime of discipline and restraint screamed at him to stay silent, to be safe, to avoid vulnerability. But then she smiled at him, soft and hopeful, and suddenly he found his words.
“I wish to ask you something,” he began, posture straight, shoulders squared like he was delivering a military report.
Her eyes sparkled with interest. “Go on.”
Dmitri inhaled through his nose, slow and steady. “Would you…” He paused, recalibrating. “…like to have dinner with me?”
She froze. Joyce dropped a pen. Hopper looked like he’d been slapped by God.
“What?” she asked, shocked but in the best way. “Dinner? With you?”
“Yes,” Dmitri confirmed, forcing himself not to flinch. “Even though you have caused me more stress tonight than KGB or anything I experienced in Russia, I would like to take you to a restaurant or somewhere nice. I thought… it might be something you would enjoy.”
A beat. Then another. She approached him slowly, cautiously, like she was afraid he might disappear if she moved too fast.
“Dmitri,” she said softly, “are you really asking me out?”
He met her gaze with surprising steadiness. “Yes.”
Her expression melted into something warm, touched and genuinely flattered.
“You,” she whispered, laying a hand gently on his chest, “are full of surprises.”
This time, Dmitri didn’t freeze. He placed his hand carefully over hers, fingers brushing lightly, his voice steady as he said: “I am trying to surprise you in good ways.”
Her smile grew brighter. “You are.”
“So…?” Dmitri asked, a hint of fear slipping into his tone. “Do you accept?”
She didn’t answer with words. She rose onto her toes, leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek, just beside the corner of his mouth, making Dmitri stop breathing entirely.
When she pulled back, she whispered, “Yes. I’d love to go to dinner with you.”
Dmitri stood frozen, hand on his cheek like he couldn’t believe what had happened. “You said yes,” he murmured.
“I did,” she teased. “And Dmitri?”
“Yes?”
“You can surprise me like that anytime.”
Dmitri’s blush deepened, but a small, proud smile tugged at his lips. He’d done it. He’d asked her. And she’d said yes.
