#three…two…one…

[pedrito-friskito]

three…two…one… - dieter bravo x fem!reader

❄️’tis the season❄️

summary: you and dieter throw a new year’s party.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, smut, fluff, unprotected p-in-v, dieter’s dirty mouth, mentions of drinking/drugs/classic dieter things, this is SUPER SELF-INDULGENT AND I DON’T CARE BUT I LOVE THESE TWO SO MUCH AND JUST WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY OKAY THAT’S IT THAT’S ALL

a/n: the beginning of this fic genuinely made me laugh out loud when I wrote it. thank you all for the love and support always (I’ll make a sappy new years post separately) and I know I’m a day late, but enjoy! (also special props to @mandoblowmybackout for giving me the pizza idea 😏)

“I wanna throw a party.”

Well, that’s definitely not what you were expecting.

“What did you just say?”

Dieter pauses, head snapping up, eyes flicking from where they’d been trained on your bare tits up to your face. His eyes are bloodshot, pupils blown wide, and his cheeks are rosy, a slick of sweat at his temple. “Huh?”

He’s stoned. You both are, truthfully. The last few weeks have been a blur of cardboard, tinsel, and red wine, flitting from one house to the next. You were Dieter’s plus one to a slew of holiday parties (which went much better than your Halloween escapades had, mainly because it was time spent with Dieter’s actual friends, people he trusted, not a bunch of strangers trying to get on his good side) and, in a not-so-shocking twist, a Christmas party thrown by your closest pals. 

They had been more than shocked when you announced you were bringing Dieter fucking Bravo along with you, doubly shocked when you told them you were moving in together. It was something to get used to, the talking about him, the calling him your…boyfriend? Partner? Something like that. But up until now, you’ve been so used to keeping it hush hush, reducing your relationship to what it had been, not what it’s turning into. And your closest friend had a keen eye on Dieter, knowing exactly what had gone down at Halloween.

“You’re sure moving in with him is the right thing?”

“There’s nothing I’m more sure of, trust me.”

She’d tilted her head to the side, stared at you a long moment. “You seem happy. Almost too happy.”

“I am,” you said, barking a laugh. “I’m really fucking happy.”

Parties, friends, a quick appearance by your parents — which Dieter had handled with such composure you had to restrain yourself from sticking your tongue down his throat in front of your mother — and the end of the era that was your apartment. You were officially moved out as of Boxing Day, the 27th of December was spent at a work party, and now…you’re officially living together.

The end of a long few weeks, both of you dead on your feet and desperate for a little reprieve, Dieter had declared it a night for celebrating. A healthy-sized joint had been shared on the balcony, reminiscent of the first time you’d set foot in his condo, and you’d swapped smoke, shotgunning between heavy giggles and tired smiles.

“I’m really happy you’re here, baby.”

“Me, too.”

Realizing this would be the first official meal in your now shared space, you spent nearly half an hour trying to decide what to order. Dieter had pouted at that, telling you he wanted to cook you something, but he’d nearly tripped over his own feet coming in from the balcony and almost ripped the curtains down in the process, and the last thing you want to do your first official night is have to call the fire department or an ambulance.

You settled on a giant meat lover’s pizza with extra cheese, bottles of root beer, garlic sticks, the works. You ate sprawled on the rug in front of his fireplace, licking grease from your fingers, watching old episodes of Family Guy, and Dieter’s Stewie impression made you laugh so hard you nearly spewed root beer out of your nose.

It was perfect.

After the pizza had been demolished, things took a turn. It had started innocent enough, the pair of you cuddled up on the couch, your head tucked under Dieter’s chin, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. Something else came on tv, but you were barely paying attention at that point, Dieter having tipped your chin in his direction, hungry kisses that tasted vaguely of pizza pressed to your mouth.

One thing led to another, and before you knew it, you were sprawled on the chaise end of the sofa, stripped of all your clothes. He’d started with your knees hooked over his shoulders, face buried between your legs. He’d pumped you full of three fingers, lips sealed around your clit, mumbling into you the whole while.

“Pussy tastes so fucking good, baby,” he rasped, curling his knuckles, making you keen. “God, you’re so good for me, aren’t you? Taste like a fucking dream.”

You’d cum so hard you saw stars the first time, your head thrown back on the couch, hands buried in his wayward curls. He’d worked you through it, lapping around where his fingers were splitting you open, pulling them out only to replace them with his tongue.

Dieter growled when you yanked at his shoulders, clawing at his t-shirt until he scrambled up the couch, shoving his lounge shorts down over his ass, pulling the hem of his shirt up and over his head. He dropped onto his elbows a second later, covering your mouth with his as he slid into you, both of you stark naked, thrusting so hard the couch slid across the hardwood. You were lost in it, chasing Dieter’s mouth, arms hooked around his shoulders, keeping him close to you.

And then—

“I wanna throw a party.”

He starts laughing, clearly realizing that he said the words out loud, but his pace doesn’t falter. He grins broadly, leaning up on his knees slightly, letting his hands skim along your shoulders and down over his chest, squeezing at your breasts, thumbs swiping your nipples.

“A party, baby,” he continues, glassy eyes raking down your body, trained on the spot where you’re joined together. “New Year’s, yeah? Wanna celebrate this.” He punctuates the word with the drop of his thumb, a slow drag over your clit. 

You make a choked sound, back arching slightly. “My pussy?”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Something this good should be celebrated,” he says, swiping at your clit again. “God, you feel amazing, you know that? Fuck, I love you.”

“Dieter.”

“The New Year, baby,” he says, eyes flicking back up to yours. “Your friends, my friends, the people we actually give a shit about. Let’s celebrate it. This. Us.” He runs his other hand up your side, curls his fingers around your ribs, rubs a harder circle around your nerves. “Get all dressed up, drink champagne, the whole thing.”

You laugh despite it all, sliding your hand up his arm, squeezing at his bicep. “I’m used to New Years in my sweatpants.”

“Wear whatever you want, baby girl,” he purrs, leaning down and nipping at your lips. “I’m just gonna peel it off you at midnight anyway.”

+

You think he’ll forget, that you’ll wake up the next morning and his sudden desperate need to throw a party would have subsided, but you instead wake up to an empty bed. At eleven in the morning. Supremely uncharacteristic of Dieter, who usually lays in bed until the last possible moment, trying to keep you hostage every single morning.

Snagging one of his t-shirts off the bed, you pad out of the bedroom to find him perched at one of the barstools. He’s got his laptop open in front of him, a giant mug of coffee in his hand, and his phone pressed to his ear. “Yeah, hi, do you guys do those little fuckin’ pigs-in-a-blanket things?”

You just burst out laughing.

Two days later, and the condo is full of friendly faces. It’s by far your favourite party you’ve been to with Dieter, made all the more special that you’re throwing it together, in the home you both live in. You make the rounds, play hostess, resist the urge to go hide in the bathroom. You love the holidays, really, but the constant stream of people, the small talk and the drinking and the late nights, it’s weighing on you.

But when you saw the spark in Dieter’s eye as he called caterers and made drink menus and decided on a guest list, you couldn’t say no.

You still haven’t had time to unpack, and all of your boxes are shoved in the guest room, but even that doesn’t stop it from feeling crowded and overwhelming. You’re stopped by a few friends, remnants of your old life mixing with your new one, and you’re grateful, having a quick conversation before someone else is calling your name, pulling you away.

It’s quarter to midnight when you know you need a moment, and you excuse yourself from the people you’d been talking to and head straight for the bedroom. Your dress feels too tight, the necklace you’d worn with it making you want to claw your head off. Heaving a breath, you toss it onto the chest of drawers, reaching for the zipper on your dress as you head into the closet.

Toeing off your shoes, you reach for one Dieter’s t-shirts, the fluffy jacket you’d thrifted for him, a pair of leggings. You’re halfway into the leggings when you glance over and see the Mandalorian armour he’d worn on Halloween. It’s piled on the floor, the jumpsuit wrinkled and pieces of metal scattered. 

The helmet is now sitting beside his Oscar in the living room; your idea.

You already know the closet is going to be a project, a complete reorganization if you are gonna fit anything besides your underwear in with Dieter’s things (something you doubt he would mind). Pulling the leggings on all the way, you reach for the armour, gathering the pieces of metal first, stacking them on the shelves beside a pair of custom Crocs you know you’ve seen Dieter wearing around the apartment. 

The jumpsuit is next, and as you pull the fabric up off the floor, something tumbles out of it. Your eyes track it as it falls to the carpet. A little black box, perfectly square and shiny on top. You cock your head, putting the jump suit to the side as you sink down and reach for it. It must be a watch or something, but you realize as your fingers close around the box that it’s too small to be a watch, that it’s the perfect size for—

“Holy shit.”

Your breath stalls in your throat and for a moment, you pause. 

Should you open it? There’s a chance that it’s not at all what you think it is, but there’s also a chance that it is one thousand fucking percent exactly what you think it is.

What if he has a plan? Wait…then why was it in the Mando suit? Was he planning to ask at Halloween, before everything went down the way that it did? When had he bought the damn thing?

Your mind is a flurry of questions, a tiny voice screaming at you to just open the damn box! until you hear Dieter’s voice, snapping you out of your reverie so hard you have to shake your head.

“Baby? What are you doing back here?”

You nearly drop the box, shrieking as he steps into the closet before you have a chance to drop the box, hide it, put it back in the jumpsuit, anything. “Fuck, D, you scared me!”

He stares at you a long moment, eyes jumping between your face and the box over and over and over again. “Whatcha got there?”

You’re caught red-handed; there’s no getting out of this one. “I was putting your Mando costume away.”

Dieter chuckles, takes a half-step towards you, the closet door swinging shut behind him. “I can see that.”

“I was just putting it away,” you say again, and he takes another step towards you, until he’s close enough to put a hand on your hip, “and this fell out.”

“Oh, it fell,” he repeats, and his free hand moves to cup yours, the box held aloft in your palm. “It’s been there for a while now.”

“Did you forget you had it?” you ask, and there’s a crack in your voice you’re not expecting, a new sort of desperation crawling up the back of your throat. Is this actually fucking happening?

Slowly, Dieter shakes his head. You bottom lip trembles as he leans in and kisses you softly, squeezing his fingers around yours, around the box. “Not for a second.”

Realization sweeps through you, and you wince. “Oh god, you were gonna propose at midnight, weren’t you?” When he doesn’t answer, you take it as a yes, groaning. “Oh fuck, I fucked it all up, didn’t I? Fuck, Dieter, I’m sorry, baby, I’m—”

He kisses you again, cutting off your words as he pulls you against him. He plucks the box from your hands, snapping it open, and all your breath shoots from your lungs in a gush, knees nearly giving out underneath you. It’s beautiful, salt-and-pepper diamond winking back at you. Rose gold, flanked by two tinier diamonds on either side, an interesting octagonal cut that catches the light from every direction.

“Oh my god.”

“After the Halloween party,” he says, his voice dropping low, “I was gonna get McDonald’s on the way home. I was gonna get you a strawberry milkshake and put the ring on the straw, and then I was gonna write my question on a napkin and give it to you.” He gives a little chuckle, and his hand is at the small of your back now, holding you close. “Obviously, that didn’t work out how I planned it.”

There are tears in your eyes, thick and crawling up the back of your throat. Happy tears, the happiest you think you’ve ever felt. “No, it didn’t,” is all you can manage to mumble out.

“Then, I was gonna do it that day when you gave back the keys to your apartment, but you were so sad, and it didn’t feel like the right time. And then you agreed to this stupid fucking party, even though I knew you didn’t want to, and I thought now, but this—” He plucks the ring out of the box, reaches for your left hand. “—this is better.”

Vaguely, you can hear the sounds of the party, people yelling that the ball is about to drop, that it’s almost midnight, that the New Year is almost here.

Dieter smiles, and it’s a smile that’s now familiar to you. It’s love and it’s light and the man is beaming. “You know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, baby. And I know we’re not easy, or conventional, and maybe people are gonna say this is way too fucking fast, I don’t know. But I know that I love you, and I wanna have a life with you.”

People are counting down now, shouting the numbers as they tick by. Your heartbeat is in your ears, thumping loudly with every second that passes.

10…9…8…7…

“Y’know, I’m supposed to get down on one knee for this,” Dieter murmurs, but you’ve got a death grip on his shoulder, refusing to let him move.

6…5…4…

“Ask me.”

He grins.

“Will you marry me, baby?”

3…2…1…

“Yes.”

Happy New Year!

Dimly, you hear the celebrations in your living room, the whooping and cheering of your friends. Your heartbeat is still thundering, and your hand is shaking as he slides the ring onto your finger.

A perfect fucking fit.

As soon as it hits your knuckle, your arms are around his neck, mouth seeking his, knotting your fingers in his hair. You can feel his smile, a broad grin against your lips as he crushes you to his chest. It’s tight enough to lift you off your feet, your legs automatically lifting around his hips as you kiss him.

His tongue tastes like champagne, and you’re drunk off the feeling of him, the taste of him, the new foreign weight of the ring on your finger. Holy fucking shit. The kiss is just as sweet as it always is, but there’s something about it that feels different now, something more intense, new territory for the two of you to suss out together.

Dieter carries you out of the closet, and it’s only then that you realize you’re only half-dressed, in the leggings you’d thrown on and your bra. He’s got one arm around your waist, other hand pressed between your shoulders, and your lips don’t break as he walks towards the bed and lays you out on the mattress.

“Happy New Year, baby,” he says against your lips, still smiling, and so are you. You’re on Cloud 9, champagne high, over the moon, walking on air, every fucking cliché you’ve ever heard in your life.

You clasp your hands behind his neck, fingers automatically seeking out the ring on your left hand, rubbing you thumb over the diamond. “Happy New Year, Dieter.”

He gives you one last lingering kiss, your whole body tingling with it before he pulls away.

“You wanna go tell your friends?”

You shake your head no. “Not yet. I want us to celebrate it first.”

He nods, an understanding look in his eye. “Wait here,” he whispers, grabbing your left hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, kissing your ring. “I’m gonna go kick all these fucking people out, and then I’m gonna make love to my fiancée, you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

That beaming smile is back, and it sends a flurry of butterflies through your stomach. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you.”

As soon as the door clicks shut, you can’t hold back anymore. It’s that little girl moment, the kicking feet and the squealing and blushing so hard you think your cheeks are on fire. You can’t stop staring at your ring, and you just hope Dieter moves fast out.

—————

if you’re curious what the ring actually looks like, my inspo is HERE.

[yujateaandpi]

POV taking psychic damage from Twin Glare ^2

[Image description: digital art of the Pines family from Gravity Falls. They're all glaring at the viewer in front of a supermarket background. Dipper and Mabel are grimacing, while Stan and Ford have more judgmental frowns. Mabel is carrying Waddles in her arms who has a neutral pig face. End ID.]

[annabelle--cane]

it's funny how wildly vampire media varies on how much blood drinking is lethal. for some vamps, if they get lost in the sauce for even just seven seconds then you are a total goner, absolutely deadzo. for others, they can have a multi minute sloppy slurp sesh with you twice a week for months on end and you only feel a little woozy. the vampire claudia drained her whole boyfriend in less than half a minute but count dracula himself needed like four tries to exsanguinate one teenager with a sleep disorder. one of the many ways in which claudia is superior to dracula.

[crownorclover]

i'm in me smartcar broom broom

[cup-o-stars]

Happy B-Day to the Corasante!! ❤🕯🎂🕯❤

(Featuring way too many drawings)

[hwashitape]

lungs, kidney, heart

[bluegiragi]

christmas miracle.

early access + nsfw on patreon

--

This comic was shamelessly inspired by tender by prettyunhinged on ao3. go ahead and leave the original author a comment and kudos if you haven't already!!

[egophiliac]

was gonna wait 'til I'd done all the poms, but it's been a day, so have Vil with a Salazzle 🍎

[ryssbelle]

Drew a bunch of Marinettes in a bunch of different artists styles it was a lot of fun!!

Artists who's styles I mimicked: @buggachat @hamsternamedmarinette @ladybeug @sabertoothwalrus and @anna-scribbles all epic artists 🤟😎

[aleph-sharp]

Just did some math that gives an Interesting perspective on all the main CR campaigns so far:

By the time VM hit ep 100, they've been together roughly 3 years.

By the time MN hit ep 100, they've been together roughly 9 months.

By the time BH hit ep 100, they've been together roughly 3 months.

[lotus-pear]

saw the labru trend and IMMEDIATELY thought of them

[zephyrchama]

You ran a hand through Lucifer’s hair. It was glossy like his feathers, and just a little oily.

“I think your hair is thinning. Must be from all the stress.”

Lucifer grumbled something in response. You couldn’t make it out on account of his face being buried in your chest. You couldn’t see much of him at all, aside from the top of his head. You used your fingers to brush his hair to the right, then to the left, then back again. If you lifted his bangs, he would nuzzle in closer until the light couldn’t reach his eyes anymore.

It wasn’t often that Lucifer pulled you into his lap like this. It caught you off guard, how he’d suddenly tug your arm and lift your legs off to the side of his chair. By then there was no escape. He would lock his arms around your back and find solace in resting his head on your front.

Lucifer didn’t speak much during these breaks, but you were free to talk about whatever was on your mind. He would listen. It was soothing. Sometimes you felt his lips turn up or his eyelids flutter. He would regain his composure after a few minutes and then you would be free to go, like nothing ever happened.

You were busy picking dust off Lucifer’s shoulder when Asmodeus walked into the room. He did knock, but didn’t wait for an answer before whining, “Luciferrr! Hey! Have you seen my bag? The blue one with a long gold chain? It’s brand new and I can’t find it.”

You craned your neck to greet the visitor. A deep sigh sent shivers up your spine. Lucifer begrudgingly lifted his face just enough to peer over your shoulder. Asmodeus was met with the glaring sight of narrowed red eyes silently cursing him. If looks could kill, this would. The arms around you coiled tighter.

“I’m busy.” Lucifer’s voice was cold and filled with contempt.

“I can see that! Make sure you save some for me.” Asmodeus thought you two sure looked cozy. He looked over the room with a big sigh. “Well, my bag’s not in here anyway. I’ll see you later!” He winked and then he was gone.

It was quiet. Lucifer returned to his original position with a growl. His cheeks squished into your skin as he dug his forehead back under your neck. A finger traced small circles into your back.

“Keep acting like that and you’ll go bald,” you told him.

[ciderjacks]

I love this moment so much fuckkkk dude. I’m getting so emo over it rn. Fuckkkkkkkkkkkk… I LOVE THIS MIDDLE AGED MAN… I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

IM FOUGN TO,FK4IIF FORUFNNFEJEJJV.,KILLS MYSELF

[thebaldursmouthgazette]

I’m sure Dumat being defeated the same year andraste was born means nothing

I’m sure this has nothing to do with the fact that andrastes mother was part of a tribe who helped the grey wardens fight and defeat dumat the same year she was born, meaning that she could have been a fetus affected by the taint in the proximity of a dying arch demon

And the fact that nobody knows which grey warden killed dumat, as seven wardens died from injuries from his death throes, and therefore we cannot actually identify a warden who absorbed his soul, means nothing

And I’m sure it is a complete coincidence that andraste had dreams and visions of the being later referred to as the maker her whole life, and behaved strangely, talking about hearing lost voices and seeing strange auras. That absolutely doesn’t sound like anyone else we know

[trek-tracks]

would both of you just shut up for two seconds

[platoapproved]

iwtv ships + book quotes