Prompt: Cruella is laying down with her head in Isaac's lap while she's suffering from alcohol withdrawals because she's pregnant and Isaac is reading to her to help her calm down.


Dealing with withdrawal

Usually, pregnant women can't wait for the pregnancy time to be over in order to finally hold their baby in their arms; Cruella was counting the days too indeed, but what she was craving for was a whole bottle of gin instead. Of course, she had tried to steal some sips when no one was watching, but after Isaac had caught her redhanded once, it became very difficult for her to remain alone: Isaac made a constant vigilance and when he wasn't present, Maleficent, Ursula and Lily spied on her like three hawks. It was almost five months since she had had her last decent drink and the thought of the next four analcholic months was driving her mad. Oh, she was really praying for the baby to come early!

She was no mother material, but she was even less sober material after all.

"I want a drink" she said aloud, turning off the television and turning slowly to her husband.

Some days it was easier to deal with the lack of alcohol, but still she hadn't got used to it. And besides, sadly that night wasn't one of those lucky days.

He only sighed heavily, complains were about to start. "You know you can't have it" he just replied, not even caring to look up from the book he was reading. It was the Great Gatsby of course.

"I spent almost all my life drinking, that's not fair!" she almost barked, while despair turned into anger. "And it's totally your fault! It's your fault if I'm pregnant now, it's your fault if I started drinking in the first place, it's your fault if I became addicted to gin and now I just need it!"

Isaac rolled his eyes: done with the complains, it was time for the accusations. However, despite his annoyance, he finally looked at her and with a quick move grabbed softly but firmly one of her wrists.

"Cru, stop! Stop thinking about drinking!" he exclaimed with a peremptory tone and then silently hinted her to approach him.

She did and actually lay down on the sofa, placing her head in his lap. There were tears in her eyes, he could see that, and even thought he knew that the reason was either the withdrawal or the hormones, he still felt suddenly softened anyway. So, he started to tenderly stroke her hair, waiting for her to calm down a bit.

"Do you want me to read something for you?"

Cruella slowly looked up, moving her eyes from his face to the well-known cover of the book in his hand; she let out an annoyed sigh but then surprisingly nodded.

"Go on, darling. Maybe this time it will be Daisy the one to shoot at Gatsby"

Isaac shook his head amused by her own strange way of thinking and then, still with one hand through her hair, started reading. It was the second chapter and all seemed to go well, until he said an unavoidably painful sentence.

"…Meanwhile Tom brought out a bottle of whiskey from a locked bur-"

"Fuck off! You must be kidding me!" she suddenly exclaimed, covering her face with her hands.

If reading was a plan to distract her, surely the description of the second drunk of the narrator wasn't useful.

"Okay, okay, no more Fitzgerald!" he immediately said, not wanting to upset her further, especially after the little progresses of the last minutes.

So, he quickly closed the book and then slowly moved her in order to stand up from the sofa. A few metres from where he was, stood a shelf of books and, while placing back there the Grat Gatsby, he started to look for something else.

"Please, don't pick up something of Hemingway or I'll swear I'll find a way to kill you"

Despite the threat – that luckily he knew was empty – he chuckled amused. Somehow he had started to find her usual black humor quite funny.

"What do you suggest then?"

"Mmm something light and maybe a bit funny"

He nodded, agreeing to the idea. Their concept of light and funny was quite different though.

"What about one of Shakespeare's comedies?"

She shook her head and a sparkle shined in her eyes for a moment. "I was thinking about Edgar Allan Poe, actually"

He instinctively widened his eyes, but didn't say anything. Horror wasn't definetly his genre and in fact the big dusty volume that he finally found belonged to her. Without any protest, he just came back on the sofa, letting her head leaning on him as before and starting to stroke her hair once again. She slowly finally calmed down and probably he became the one to get a bit anxious. Somewhere between a tale of terror and a tale of mistery, Cruella even fell asleep, but he continued to read anyway for a while more, unexpectedly intrigued by the reading.

After all he had married the Devil itself, there was nothing that ould have really scared him anymore.


Hello there Authella fans! I consider this fluffy one-shot a sort of missing moment of my long-fic "Loving the Devil". By the way, I will update soon! Hope you liked it, anyway!:)