#(one day I'll share my Illy propaganda for headcanons; but today isn't that day. Back to work I go! :D )

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

A Quick Trip with Illinois - Illinois x Reader

Word Count: 472

The heavy stone door slammed shut behind you, narrowly missing your foot. You stumbled out of the haunted ruins into the morning sunlight. Both hands were thrown ahead of you to press against the long, damp grass and attempt to save you from an embarrassing fall.

Unfortunately, your shoes did not provide adequate grip in said damp grass, ensuring you slipped anyway.

A chortle had your head snap up in fury, like your glare alone could prompt your adventuring partner to share your fate. Illinois was not affected by your powers. His left hand flicked the brim of his hat up a fraction, as though making sure you could see the glee on his face at the sight of your bad luck. Slowly, he sauntered over, unwilling to lend you a hand as he instead crouched down so he could be at your eye level. How the wet grass was not hindering his footing was an infuriating question that you knew you’d never get an answer out of him.

"Bumpy landing, partner? When you said you wanted a bath after this excursion, I didn't think it would be quite this early."

You adjusted your position just enough to flip him the bird, though your action didn't faze him at all. Instead, it prompted him to stand back up and take your hand.

"Alright, let's get you back on your feet. Can't have you getting a cold as a souvenir." 

His hand was warm and calloused from his time on the road, but you had learned it was more than merely wear and tear from the harsh weather conditions he willingly endured. There were small cuts from fights, a bruise on his wrist that was finally beginning to fade (admittedly, you poking it when you wanted Ilinois to shut up might have slowed the healing process), and a small, red mark on the bend of his right middle finger from where his sketching pencil would press a little too hard while he was lost in his work.

His grip was tight, but not painful. It was one fuelled with experience of rope climbing, of abseiling, and of making sure a retrieved artefact did not slip away. But it was also protective, one that accompanied a squeeze when he guided you through the labyrinthine backstreets of an unfamiliar city.

A turn of his wrist flipped your hand, leaving the back of it vulnerable for a kiss. His head tilted up a fraction, letting you see the warm gaze of affection just below the rim of his hat and strands of messy curls.

"I do recall saying I owed you a night in a hotel to make up for our spoiled vacation. Shall we make tracks, darling?"

You nodded, though you were quick to remind him it was two nights he owed you, not one.