#┆█ ✦ – ⊰ illya kuryakin. ⊱ (starter call)

[set-phasers-to-whump]

in the dark of this place, there's the glow of your face

prompt: nightmares

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hi hello! this fic is a bit pre-ot3 but doesn't have to be read that way. hope you enjoy!! (title from ya hey by vampire weekend)

It isn’t often that all three of them end up sleeping in the same hotel room. For the sake of their covers, they are usually split between two rooms, sometimes even three. 

But not this time. For reasons that had sounded suspiciously to Napoleon like budget cuts, on this mission, he finds himself sharing a cramped, cheap hotel room with both Illya and Gaby. 

No big deal. Sure, he’d prefer something a little more luxurious, but when push comes to shove, there’s hot water for the shower and a thick comforter for the bed. 

Of which there is only one. 

Granted, it’s an almost unreasonably large bed, but Napoleon foresees…problems. Problems in the form of Illya. 

Napoleon and Gaby can share a bed, no problem. Sure, Gaby kicks a little, but she doesn’t take up a lot of space and she’s a heavy sleeper. This means Napoleon can spread out a little bit, and if he accidentally kicks her, she won’t wake up. 

Illya, however. Napoleon has never shared a bed with him. It’s not the most practical thing, seeing as how neither of them is what one might call small. Somehow, though, Napoleon thinks that even if there had been a mission where the two of them could have comfortably fit in the same bed, Illya would have found some way to avoid it. Probably he would insist upon taking a couch, or the floor. Napoleon and Gaby have both learned that Illya is generally wary of physical closeness when it isn’t strictly necessary. 

Napoleon gets it, really, but also - well, also, he’d kind of really like to be physically close to Illya right now, and he’s sure Gaby feels the same. For starters, it’s freezing outside, and Illya is warm. Plus, this bed, for reasons unknown to man, is massive, and can definitely fit all three of them reasonably comfortably. There’s no reason why any of them should have to suffer the discomfort of not sleeping in it.

He shares a look with Gaby that passes over Illya and the bed, and they come to an unspoken agreement. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” Napoleon announces. 

“I’m going to sleep,” Gaby replies. “Come on, Illya, the bed’s big enough for both of us.”

Contrary to Napoleon, Gaby has shared a bed with Illya before. Napoleon figures this means he’s likely to agree to it again, especially considering that there is no couch for him to offer to take. 

“What about -” Illya asks, turning towards Napoleon, who is lingering in the bathroom doorway. Napoleon shuts the door a little louder than is necessary and feigns obliviousness. 

“It’s what he gets for taking a shower,” Napoleon hears Gaby respond. “He can take the floor.” Napoleon shakes his head, smiles, then turns on the water. 

Twenty minutes later, he emerges from a pleasantly warm shower into a pleasantly dark room. He can make out the shapes of his partners in the bed - Illya on the left side, curled up into himself like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible, and Gaby lying on her side next to him, facing Napoleon. Her eyes are open and in the faint moonlight that filters through the curtains, Napoleon sees her grin. 

She’s left him plenty of room, of course, and he wastes no time in climbing into the bed beside her. The bedframe squeaks slightly as he moves, but Illya, evidently already asleep, shows no signs of being disturbed. Napoleon gets comfortable under the blanket, relishing in the warmth of its fabric and of his partners’ presence. 

“Goodnight,” he whispers to the silence. 

“Goodnight,” Gaby whispers back. 

--

Napoleon wakes up confused. It’s pitch black and everything is still and quiet, the only sound his partners’ breathing. But he’s awake, so something must be wrong. 

Something is wrong. He sits there quietly for less than a minute before he discovers the problem. 

Illya. His breathing isn’t right. It’s strained, almost. Painfully controlled. Unnatural. 

Napoleon reaches carefully across a sleeping Gaby to put a hand on Illya’s shoulder. 

As soon as Napoleon’s palm makes contact with his shoulder, Illya shoots bolt upright with a sort of choked shout, his controlled breaths becoming heaving pants. He looks around frantically, and Napoleon carefully crawls around Gaby’s curled-up form until he’s crouched by her feet, inches away from Illya. 

“Hey,” he whispers, not daring to touch his partner yet. “Hey, you’re okay.”

Illya looks at him without really seeing him, his eyes wide in the darkness. He’s shaking, Napoleon realizes. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Napoleon has never seen him like this before. 

Everything feels fragile, like if Napoleon does one thing wrong then it’s all going to shatter. He faces a moment of horrible indecision and almost painful concern, and then Gaby stirs next to him and sits up, rubbing her eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” she mumbles, voice thick with sleep. 

Illya starts, like he’d had no idea that she was there. He turns his head to look at her, and then just as quickly looks away. He brings his knees to his chest, wraps his arms around them, and presses his face to them. He’s still shaking. 

“It’s okay, it’s just Gaby,” Napoleon says quietly. 

“I’m here,” Gaby confirms, blinking slowly. “What is it?”

Illya shows no signs of hearing either of them. He just sits there, wrapped around himself. Gaby looks at Napoleon. He looks back at her. Neither of them really knows what to do. 

But they can’t sit like this forever. Not when Illya is there and clearly hurting. They have to do something. 

Napoleon is the first to break the stillness. He puts a hand on Illya’s shoulder again, cautious as anything, and when Illya doesn’t startle and he isn’t pushed away, he moves a little closer, extending his arm across Illya’s back. He rubs his hand in small circles on Illya’s shoulder blade and whispers, “it’s okay.”

Gaby moves to sit next to Napoleon. She very gently touches Illya’s hands, clasped around his knees. After a second, she pulls one hand free and laces their fingers together. Illya does not resist. 

“We’re here,” Gaby whispers. 

They sit like this for what might be a few minutes or what might be an hour. Time doesn’t have much meaning in a dark, quiet hotel room in the middle of the night. 

Eventually, Illya relaxes. Not much, but he mostly stops shaking, and he sits up a little bit, raising his head from his knees, turning ever so slightly to look at them. 

Even in the dark, Napoleon can see that his eyes are bloodshot. His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat that has since dried. He looks miserable. Small. Exhausted. 

Afraid. 

Afraid like - hell. Not like the kind of afraid that comes from a nightmare, no matter how scary it might be. The kind of afraid that comes from crossing a line. The kind of afraid that asks, is everything going to fall apart because of this?

Napoleon knows this kind of afraid. Knows that, especially in their business, the answer to this question is very often yes. 

But the answer doesn’t always have to be yes. In this case, it certainly isn’t. 

Everyone gets nightmares, especially field agents. It’s a fact of life. Nightmares - fear, grief, pain - don’t mean that you’re a bad agent. They just mean that you’re still human, underneath the training, underneath the words drilled into your head. 

Napoleon can guess what those words sound like to Illya. Probably they sound something like the words that used to echo in Napoleon’s own head, the words he’d struggled to push aside for a long time before he’d felt comfortable with the actual truth - that feeling things is not a sign of anything more or less than being a person. 

He’d like to explain all of this to Illya, to tell him that there is next to nothing in the world that would make either him or Gaby ever leave. But that’s a conversation for another time. For now, he simply brushes Illya’s hair away from his forehead, gently squeezes him from the side, and tugs him downwards. 

Gaby, understanding Napoleon’s movements in that instinctual sort of way that the three of them often do, clambers over to Illya’s other side, so that he ends up lying down between them. Gaby and Napoleon each grab hold of one of his hands, as a way of grounding him to the present, as a way of reassuring him that neither one of them is going anywhere. 

“We’ve got you,” Napoleon whispers, and he hopes that Illya knows they mean it in more ways than one.

thanks for reading! i hope you liked it <3

[muiiitos-arc]

PERMANENT STARTER CALL FOR MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E'S ILLYA KURYAKIN.  AS PLAYED BY ARMIE HAMMER.

by liking this post it gives me permission to tag you in starters from illya kuyrakin at any point in time. as well, it gives me permission to send you memes, etc. at any point as well. // muse  info & tags.

[heytheredeann]

The lucky one

Tags: Post-Canon, Sci-Fi Elements, Immortal Napoleon Solo, Character Death, (he gets better in a minute though LOL), Napoleon Solo Whump, Hurt Napoleon Solo, Hurt Illya Kuryakin, Self-Sacrifice, Gen or Pre-Slash, hanging off a cliff

Summary: In hindsight, keeping his mouth shut about his immortality might have been a mistake.

Notes: For the "You have to let go" prompt from day 1 of Whumptober. Yes this was supposed to be posted on October 1st sssshhh, I had it half-finished for half a month LOL. Also, I tagged it as CNTUAW because technically there's MCD but like... not really? Basically I wasn't sure how to tag it so I took the easy way out LOL. Enjoy!

.

As it turns out, Napoleon might not have handled the situation in the best possible way.

It isn’t like he had planned on keeping it a secret forever, but—it’s kinda hard to work into a conversation, and even after it was made clear that Waverly was going to keep them together as a team, permanently, and Napoleon came to the highly uncomfortable realization that he actually would trust his partners with his secret—he just figured they wouldn’t believe him.

Not that he blames them: it’s a little hard to take an immortal at his word about said condition, but the fact of the matter is that he wasn’t going to have that conversation when he was sure to have to argue to hell and back about how actually no, he isn’t drunk nor joking, he just can’t die.

So he figured he’d wait. They are spies, he’s bound to catch a bullet in his brain at some point or another—then Illya and Gaby would see him straight up resuscitate, they would have questions and he would answer them. And they would believe his answers because they literally saw him coming back from the dead. Nice and easy.

It seemed like a good plan at the time.

It really doesn’t now that he and Illya managed to find themselves hanging off a cliff and, well—the arrangement is precarious to say the least.

For starters, it’s a pretty fucking high cliff, and Napoleon knows that you are not supposed to look down, but he and rules don’t mix well and, uh—suffice to say he is not looking forward to that fall.

More worryingly, though, the only thing keeping him from falling down to the bottom of that hellpit is Illya. Illya who has just one functional arm, the left one that is currently busy keeping them both from a gruesome death, and is still holding onto him with his right hand, somehow.

Honestly, he must be seeing stars, Napoleon wouldn’t blame him if he just decided to toss him down and be done with it.

In fact, that would be—kinda what he’s going to have to make him do.

He doesn’t think they are going to last long like this: Gaby is nowhere to be seen, Illya may be tough but he is sadly not an actual robot, and the problem is that if they both fell down Napoleon would be fine.

Well, he would die and it would hurt and he is, let’s be clear, not looking forward to that, not even a little bit, but he would still wake up and go on with his life. Illya wouldn’t, and Napoleon is just not going to have that on his conscience.

So, uh—as mentioned, keeping his mouth shut about his immortality might have been a mistake.

“Peril?” he calls, because that’s a good place to start as any and, frankly, he isn’t sure how to go about any of this.

What he gets as an answer is some noncommittal and quite pained grunting, which, fair. He thinks that if he were alone Illya might somehow manage to haul himself up—and even if he couldn’t, without all the deadweight it’s going to be easier to hold on until Gaby finds him.

So, really, his is the most reasonable solution. Too bad he gets the feeling Illya isn’t going to want to hear it.

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[muiitos-blog]

PERMANENT STARTER CALL FOR THE MOVIE ADAPTATION OF MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E’S ILLYA KYRUAKIN AS PLAYED BY ARMIE HAMMER

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[redperil]

PLOTTED STARTER FOR >> @facemypast​

It was their fifth and U.N.C.L.E was growing more efficient with each raid. HYDRA had years behind them of hiding, control, manipulating the world to forget their being but U.N.C.L.E was not theirs to command and when S.H.I.E.L.D failed so... publicly they had been called.

Illya would not pretend no surprise when he was asked to run program. He was not a therapist and not the best with people but Waverly had wanted someone who knew that life. Someone who spoke their tongue and english who could bring both sides around. He worked with professionals, trusted, vetted but as a whole he would handle a lot of rehabilitation for HYDRA agents and forced operatives.

Today they looked for a winter. To currently knowledge HYDRA had three super programs. The Winter Soldier, Red Room and Red Star programs. Each with different order but until today they had no success in locating Winter or in infiltrating. For whatever reason, HYDRA would protect that asset first. Even handing over red room as a distraction. 

Working through the facility is slow. Their defences are many, U.N.C.L.E.S unit is smaller but they are tight knit. Clever and Illya and Napoleon take point with the American handling any security in their way as Gabrielle gave directions in his ear. 

Reaching the main chamber is -- he must take breath. Not forget where he is. It reminds him of the darker KGB cells. The chairs for reminding you not to step out of line. The training regimes that border on cruel. Every piece of equipment designed to enhance and control, to make a man stronger to the point of being part machine. 

And Illya could only begin to imagine how worse it was for a non-legal organisations pet. 

The guards are shot on sight. Bloody and brutal yes but they had learnt quickly no information would be taken from the enforcers and they were usually there by choice or controlled in some way. It is the workers that squeal, typically willing to beg, typically there by blackmail or unsuspecting of what they create. They are given half a chance and Illya leaves Gabrielle with one of them, following the sound of whispers behind hissing. 

The room is tucked behind piping, hidden away and he notes first how cold it is. Radiating from a tube in the back, like ice. It is worse than the deepest snow storms in Moscow and he barely controls a shudder as he walks in, gun trained before him, listening to the panic in the voice sounding. 

Nine.  Homecoming. 

Illya blinks at the seeming randomness of it all but as he rounds the corner to place the barrel to the scientists head he is forced to come face to face with the reality. Trigger words are so common, even in the KGB, even in the CIA but it is not that that brings him to a violent halt. 

The soldier before him is vacant. A mimic of all the commands he had seen men given in the field that broke their soul. Waiting, ready to be controlled yet he knows blue eyes. He knows them behind the mask. 

“Kuryakin? Do you have something interesting back there?” 

“Do not come in. Clear room, kill the workers. Get all information you can on Winter program first.” 

Illya sucks in a breath when his voice breaks, tightening his finger on the trigger and giving no thought when blood coats hand his jaw. He can not look away, frown drawing deeper as memories poke and prod past years he had tried to forget. A war that brought people to places they did not wish to see, a mission that did not go as planned and when he had known the Soldier they had been a civilian. They had been forbidden fruit. 

“Chto oni s toboy sdelali?“ 

With no one to see the weakness Illya drops his gun and brings up a hand instead, reaching back to remove the muzzle. Like he is a dog, a pet, something to keep on a leash to stop from biting. Tossing it aside his fingers trace a familiar jaw now sharper, rougher. Breathing in roughly before looking about. 

The man had a book in hand. Hasty written, coded but Illya scratches at the pages, looking for those first few, looking for more. It takes three times, he does not know the right order for them to work and at first he gives those two in the incorrect place but he knows when it works because empty eyes flicker to recognition. 

It is like watching a toy turn on and it makes his throat close, his chest ache. 

Ready to Comply. 

He was going to kill every last HYDRA agent he could find but first he needed to take James to safety, he needed more knowledge to help. If he could bring him back-

It is a half ditch attempt and the order may not even work but he could try.

“Zakroy glaza i idi spat'. Vspomni Dzheymsa Barnsa. Solo? Clear path for me, ready a vehicle. I am going to house six and no one but you, Gaby and Waverly are allowed.” 

“You’re what? I do hate to be the bearer of bad news but I feel that will piss off an awful lot of people.” 

“I do not care.” 

“Naturally.”

Carefully Illya scoops an arm under the body before him, lifting Bucky carefully and shouldering his way from the room. Giving Solo a withering look that has his partner stepping aside. He trusted them, even if they did not fully know yet and he knew they would let him. They would cover him until he could say properly. 

He would take James home, let him wake in a warm bed and somewhere safe and in that time Illya would gather all that he could, he would do all he could to make sure that it was Bucky who woke up there. Even if only for moment. 

His fingers are shaking when he drags them through dark hair that is now longer, messier but with the mask gone he is so much surer. He would never doubt he stood before him, it is with sudden clarity that Illya is glad to have helped other agents, perhaps he could give Bucky a new chance as well. He can not say who will walk out of this, no one comes out of HYDRA the same as they were but he would be glad to see James come out at all. Even a little.

Sinking into the chair next to the bed by the safe house, Illya opens the moleskin cover and looks to the mess of codes and covers. It would take months to fully understand it all but he did not know when the man at his side would be coherent if he ever was. So he settles, he turns over a page and he waits.

[kyberborne-a]

don’t sentence starters | accepting ! @sovietperil​ said: ❝ don’t say that to me, jyn. not you, of all people. ❞

the nature of their relationship ( if she can even call it that, she doesn’t know ) has never been strictly defined. it’s more than friends – just friends don’t fuck to blow off steam after difficult missions – but they’re not exactly lovers. . .not that she knows what that would entail, having never really had a partner of her own before. what she does know is that they don’t sleep in the same bed regularly or kiss each other good night and good morning. they don’t say ‘ i love you ‘ or hold hands or do any of the things she remembers her parents doing. truly, lyra and galen are her only model for a healthy and happy relationship ; it’s not the only way to love someone, but it’s what she’s familiar with. whenever she’s around him, there’s this feeling in her gut and her chest, her cheeks turn pink and she has a hard time holding his gaze, feeling almost – bubbly when he’s in her presence. to make the whole situation worse, she’s beginning to crave that feeling, too. is that love ? she doesn’t know, but thinks it might be. and that – that kriffing terrifies her. she doesn’t know what to do with love. 

( what she does know is how to push people away. how to put her walls up so high that no one can get in. how to use scathing words to get people to leave her. how to make all her fears come true – she pushes them to leave, confirming her belief that everyone will abandon her eventually. and if they don’t, if they stick around, if they’re stubborn ? then she’ll leave first. 

it’s all she knows how to do. ) 

“ why not ? “ she taunts, knowing that this might be it, that this might be the moment that she pushes too far and finally breaks him. it’s stupid to pick a fight right now when they’re the only two people on a tiny shuttle with hours left to go before they reach base, but she’s been itching, nervous, impatient. her affection for him has only grown in the last few weeks, but she can’t read him. does he feel the same way ? does he even care ? no, instead of risking him shutting her down, she’ll nip this in the bud. ( it’ll hurt even more than it does now if he loves you and leaves, she tells herself, trying to rationalize in her mind. ) “ are you afraid it’s true ? i can do whatever i want, kuryakin. say whatever the hell i want. and right now, i’m saying that i don’t want to work with you anymore. you’re – you’re holding me back, a liability to the rebellion when i get back to base, i’m asking for a reassignment. “ 

he can protest all he wants – is it wrong that a small part of her wants him to ? – but she can’t do this anymore. it hurts too bad, knowing the inevitable. it will be better for illya, too – no one needs a partner with trauma stacked on top of trauma, abandonment issues so strong that she can’t help but sabotage any good relationship she has. “ and this – whatever the hell it is between us, ‘cause we’ve never kriffing talked about it – this is over. it’s done. i’m, “ her voice cracks and she’s not proud of it, raising her chin and turning away from him. “ i’m done. “ 

she can’t stay here anymore ; with that, she pivots and leaves the room entirely. time to lick her wounds in private. 

[kyberborne-archive-blog]

          in retrospect, jyn realizes that picking the first person who offers to room with her probably won’t end well. in her defense, not many people want to room with an ex-con, so when illya had expressed interest, she’d jumped at the chance. after all, she needed someone who had a steady source of income to split the rent with her. . .and maybe pay a little extra in the months she can’t contribute.

          surprisingly ( or, perhaps, UNSURPRISINGLY ), the two of them get along well, their relationship growing closer with each passing day. but there are always, ah, problems in any kind of household, and this is one of them. if there’s one thing jyn’s protective of, it’s her cheap food that she’s barely able to afford even with her minimum wage job. and it’s gone.

          “ KURYAKIN ! “ she hollers, sticking her head up and out of the cabinet. “ i swear to fucking god, if you ate my fucking food, i’ll end you. “ it doesn’t matter that he’s over a foot taller than him, she’ll take. him. DOWN.

for @sovietperil ! | starter call.

[rebelvoices-a-blog]

PERMANENT  STARTER  CALL   /  ILLYA KURYAKIN. film  canon.

hitting  the  heart  shows  your  interest  in  this  muse   /  allows  me  to  tag  you  in starters whenever  i  fancy   /   come  to  you  for  plotting  specifically  for  this  character   /   throw memes  your  way  with  this  muse  etc.

[fovghtabear]

C:// @theredpxril/STARTER CALL /KURYAKIN/ILLYA

                    ❛   are you gonna pull an andy bernard next time you get angry?   ❜