HELLLO HIIII
idk how to word this but I REALLY love your writing I lowkey find myself rereading them GEHEHE
by any chance can you write some Devesto fluff... freestyle it however you want and take your time with it... 🥹 I say as a clasp my hands together and bat my eyelashes at you
-📺👁️ anon
𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄.
devesto.dieofdeath x reader
ꫂ᭪ dear reader ... you're the only thing that makes going home worth it to devesto.
ꫂ᭪ to whom it may concern ... romance, takes place in the dod universe, you and devesto are together, mentions of crime, devesto has hair he's not bald, devesto wears glasses, not proofread, and profanity.
ꫂ᭪ p.s from dottie ... HIII HELLOOOO!!! thank you SO much, i'm glad you like my writing, and i hope you like this i say as i hand this fic to you and stare with wide eyes until you to confirm you like it.
A while back, if Devesto were to be asked if he had a home, he probably would've said no.
Not because he didn't own a house—he technically did if you count him using an abandoned one—but he didn't enjoy the idea of being close to one specific place. A home was often depicted as a place of comfort and safety, and to Devesto, that definition was too intimate for someone like him.
He was a criminal that refused to even think of the idea that he was confined to one place, so to assure himself that he didn't have a home, he just left his place bare. The house he owned had overgrown grass, weeds, and the inside was worse. It was dusty in every room except the one he slept in, but even then, all there was in that room was a mattress with some blankets and a pillow.
He never planned on taking care of that house.
But then you came along with your eyes that gleamed whenever you looked at him, and a smile that had him captivated the first time he saw it.
For so long, he had fought the way his heart practically slammed against his chest whenever he even got a glance at you. He'd roll his eyes at you and mumble responses whenever you questioned him, but despite his attempts to get you to go away, you never did. You just nodded at his answers before you continued to talk.
After every interaction with you, he'd find himself running to his house—the place he never cared for because it was confining. He'd slam the door behind him before grasping at his tie, feeling the way his heart raced under his clenched fist.
He didn't understand why it had to be you—why it had to be you that made him feel like this. The only time he felt adrenaline was when he was committing crimes and terrorizing citizens.
But you didn't fear him despite that. Whenever you saw him, you greeted him as if were someone worth greeting.
As if he were normal.
Usually, the word made a sense of disgust wash over him, but the idea of it coming from you didn't give the effect it usually did.
As time went on, Devesto's responses grew less bored and murmured, and he answered your questions with more thought. He noticed his change, and by the look on your face whenever he spoke, you had noticed, too.
His responses weren't the only thing that had changed about him. Slowly, he had started asking you questions and made jokes whenever he could. He found himself walking away from buildings he planned to destroy and towards you whenever you were across the street, and his reasoning for doing so was because he could always go back to that building later.
Later never came, though—not without you, at least.
Whenever he wasn't doing crime, he was with you. You both would either walk the streets of the hellish city around you, or you'd even invite him to your place sometimes if you got tired but still wanted to hang out.
Hours would pass with you both talking or watching whatever was on the television. Most of the time, it was news about the criminals around the city, and Devesto would tell you the truth about any of the criminals you had questions about.
Occasionally, there would actually be a movie on, and those rare movies are what lead to him accepting how he felt about you.
He had always been aware that he liked you—even if he did deny it every time his heart reminded him of his feelings—but he didn't expect it to be anything more. He expected this little crush to eventually fade like everything else does.
But when your head would slump against his shoulder as you drifted off into sleep, he couldn't deny that he loved the thought of you.
He loved the thought of you being with him despite everything—despite the crimes, the shambled world, and everything else.
He loved the thought of you being the first thing he sees in the morning, and the last thing he sees at night.
And suddenly, that thought led him to spending his stolen money on things he previously would have deemed foolish.
He got his lawn taken care of, and he bought whatever furniture you recommended or whatever things made your eyes light up whenever he showed you his phone.
His house looked a bit more together after some time. The rooms were actually clean and filled with furniture, decorations, and more. It felt weird to walk into a place he once only entered just to sleep, but with everything he had added, he found himself going there more—most of the time with you by his side since he'd invite you over a lot.
But eventually, he didn't need to invite you. There would be times where you would just show up on his doorstep, and it got to the point where he ended up just giving you a key to make it easier for you and him.
As odd as it sounds, Devesto is pretty sure that key was the whole reason where he was now.
The rain pattered around him but not on him, for the umbrella he held kept him dry. His free hand was in the pocket of his jacket while he looked around.
The streets were empty, but that's how it was most nights. People who hadn't made it to the government bunker were hesitant to be out even during the day, so it wasn't shocking that nobody wanted to be out at night.
Devesto didn't mind. It just meant he was able to return to his house without the irritating sight of people rushing around or pointing out who he was.
The small puddles on the sidewalk rippled whenever his shoes grazed them, and he eventually stood right in one before stopping.
The water beneath his feet shifted while he looked down into his distorted reflection. When the puddle stilled, he was met with a clear image of himself with one side of him being illuminated by a warm light. He lifted his head to look to his side, and his gaze was filled with the sight of his house.
The porch light was on, unlike the rest of the neighborhood who had theirs off. The front door beamed in the light, and Devesto slowly started to make his way towards the porch.
As soon as he got there, he bent down to pick up the plant that was right beside the door—the plant you had suggested on buying because it made the porch seem a little more lively. At his action, his glasses slightly slipped from his nose, and his eyebrows furrowed as he stood up.
With the umbrella still in hand and the plant in the other, Devesto moved to set the pot the plant was in down onto the wet grass of the lawn. When he stepped back to be under the canopy above the porch, he watched as the rain fell on the deep green leaves of the plant, and he fixed his glasses before turning around to head towards the door.
He grabbed his key out of his pocket, and he inserted it into the keyhole before twisting. When he heard the lock click, he pulled the key out and slid it into his jacket pocket, and he reached out to open the door.
When it creaked open, Devesto remained outside as he attempted to close the umbrella. It closed halfway before deciding to stay like that, and Devesto frowned whlie he made his way into the house.
He kicked the door closed behind him while he continued to struggle with the umbrella—the object either opening once more or closing halfway.
"Fuckin' umbrella—" He grumbled as droplets from the umbrella fell onto the floor, and whenever it finally decided to shut, he leaned it against the wall before slipping off his shoes.
They were placed right next to yours near the door, and as he shrugged off his jacket, he called out.
"Sweetheart?" The name rolled off his tongue with ease as he hung his jacket up on a nearby wall hook, but the fabric remained in his grasp once he comprehended that he hadn't gotten a response from you.
"Hello?"
It was a possibility that you were asleep, for it was rather late, but the fact that there were still lights on in the house said otherwise.
Devesto let go of his jacket before locking the door, and he walked into the living room as his eyes skimmed the area.
The room thrived with furniture and decorations: paintings hung on the wall, framed photos of you and him were on a nearby bookshelf with other things, and the TV mounted on the wall was playing the news.
He frowned at the sight of his face—along with some other criminals—on the screen, and he glanced around for the remote until his eyes landed on the couch.
You were asleep with a blanket halfway covering you, and one of your arms was under the covers while the other was above your head.
He felt a grin threaten to sprawl on his lips at the sight of you, but he held it back once he noticed that the remote was on the coffee table. He walked over to grab it before turning the tv off, and he set the remote back down as he took a few steps to stand beside you.
He kneeled onto the ground before shifting to sit on his knees, and he leaned forward to press his lips against your forehead. They stayed there for a minute before he moved to lightly kiss your cheek, and when your eyes started to flutter, he moved back.
As your eyes opened and met his, the breath he had started to take hitched in his chest. It took you less than a second to recognize it was him, for he watched a familiar—way too familiar—light beam in your drowsy gaze.
"You're home..."
It was odd how just hearing your voice made his whole body relax: his shoulders slumped, his eyes fell lidded, and a smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah, I'm home, sweetheart. You were waitin' for me?"
You gave him a slight nod as you tiredly stared up at him, and he raised a hand to cup your cheek. His other hand rested on the couch, to which you slowly moved your hand out from under the blanket to skim your fingers with his. He gently grasped your hand, and he brought it up to his lips to press a light kiss against your skin before resting your joined hands against the couch.
"Where were you?"
He never liked that question.
Not because he didn't want to tell you, but because every time you ask, he's reminded of who he is.
He was a man who once took pride in his doings and held more arrogance than one should have, and while he still held satisfaction for his crimes, it was different now that you were in the picture. It was different now that he was reminded someone like you was with him, and that you question him so sweetly despite knowing his answer was bound to be anything but that.
He was a criminal.
You were not.
And out of the things he yearns to steal, the thing he wants most is to steal every little thought you've had of him so that he could finally understand why—
The feeling of his hand being squeezed made his thoughts falter, and his gaze focused on the tired smile you were giving him.
"You don't have to tell me." Your voice seemed even quieter than before. "I'm just glad you're home."
Home.
Devesto let out a small hum while his eyes shifted away from yours, and he eyed your form on the coach before looking back at you.
"You need to quit fallin' asleep on the couch..." He mumbled while his thumb traced your cheekbone. "Every time you do, I have to hear you gripe about your back hurtin' in the morning."
"I'll be fine..." You retorted with a bit of offense slipping into your tone at his accusation. Devesto picked up on your tone, and a light scoff left his throat as he felt his smile grow.
"You said that last time, and I woke up to you sayin' your back hurt."
You merely huffed at him, but you didn't deny what he said.
"Alright, lets get you to bed..." Devesto removed his hand from your cheek and let go of your hand, and he stood up from the ground as he rolled his shoulders back.
He grabbed the blanket that was on you and set it on top of the couch cushions, and you let out a sound of disapproval before he slid one of his arms under your knees, and the other under your shoulder.
As he lifted you from the couch, he felt his glasses lower more on his nose, but before he could frown, you raised a hand to push them back up.
He took in the look of you through his lenses—your head on his chest, your eyes fluttering in a way that told him they were threatening to close, and how one of your hands fidgeted with his tie.
Your shared room wasn't too far from the living room, and Devesto made sure to turn before going through the doorframe so he didn't hit your head.
He slightly leaned down so he could pull back the covers before gently setting you down on the bed, but before he could stand back up fully, you lightly tugged on his tie.
The fabric became loose at your action, and he raised an eyebrow at you in expectance for an answer. All you did was look up at him in silence, and it took him a moment before he realized what you were doing.
"You couldn't have just asked? I can't read your mind, sweetheart..." He spoke before bracing one of his hands beside your head. He leaned down to press his lips against yours, and he felt your hand cup his cheek before he pulled away.
"But you still knew what I wanted."
At your remark, he smiled before kissing you once more, and your hand trailed to the back of his head to mess with his hair.
"I'm gonna go turn off the lights..." He mumbled against your lips. "change..." He paused for a moment before he broke the kiss, and he pressed his forehead against yours. "Then I'll get in bed."
You let out a short hum, but despite his words, he didn't move. He just stayed there for a moment while you messed with his hair, but you eventually removed your hand before speaking. "You should probably go do that..."
With one final, teasing peck to your lips, Devesto stood up before he walked over to the door.
As soon as he was out of your sight, his steps became quickened as he quickly turned off whatever lights were still on in the house, but when he made his way back to the bedroom, he slowed down before entering.
He closed the door behind him before pausing, and he took note of the way your back was facing him while the cover on top of you rose and fell with every breath you took.
It was humorous to think about how this room had once just held a single mattress, but now it held much more than that. It had an actual bed with nightstands on either side of it, and there was a dresser with a TV on top of it.
But most importantly, there was you.
And as he quietly made his way into the bathroom to chance, he could only think about one thing.
He was home.
