#imaginegallya

[imaginegallya]

illya getting gaby a kitten and not realizing his mistake until she stops paying attention to him to play with it all the time

This was a mistake.

He watched her, eyes rolling as another high pitched squealcame from the other room. Rubbing a broad hand over his face, Illya pinched thebridge of his nose before letting out a long breath. If he went back into theliving area of the small house, he was just going to get angry again.

Four days.

Inhaling slowly, he closed his eyes and tried to relax,gritting his teeth together with an annoying grinding sound. It had been four days since he had brought that thing home and Gaby had beenecstatic. Making her smile was what mattered to him, but he did not enjoy beingignored for a two-pound ball of fluff.

He leaned in the doorway, tall form casting an eerie shadowin the room that was wholly ignored by the other occupants. The smile on thepetite woman’s face almost cracked his resolve, watching as she danced herfingers across the carpet and made soft noises. From beneath the couch, a blurof black and white darted, pouncing on her outstretched hand and his glarereturned. Even her laugh, bright and vibrant, was not enough to pull the scowlfrom his features.

Damn kitten.

The ‘poor, sweet thing’ had been abandoned, deceivinglysmall and sickly looking. Illya had found it, wrapping the tiny creature in hisshirt and taking it home. The look on Gaby’s face was everything he had hopedfor. She had taken to the kitten instantly, whisking it away to be washed andsending Illya out to get things. How did he know what a cat the size of hishand needed?

Upon returning home, he had found the pair cuddled togetheron the couch, the kitten content and asleep on her chest. It had been such aserene moment. Thinking back on it now, he still glared at the energetic kittenas it bounded around. Even his name annoyed the Russian. Stark.

“It is the word forstrength.” She’d explained, despite that he had not asked. Her sole focuswas on the kitten; coddling him, playing with him. When he’d gone to bed, thesmall thing had been asleep on his pillow. Illya would not sleep on the couchagain.

Stepping into the room, Gaby’s voice became clearer and hisbrow furrowed as he focused on the German dialect flowing off her lips. Thesoft song made him pause, watching the pair from a distance still. In only afew days, she had become attached to the kitten. What was he going to do? Demandthat she get rid of it?

With a sigh, he made his way over to where they weresitting, trying not to glare as she smiled up at him. Patting the ground besideher, he only shook his head before settling onto the couch. Curiously, Starkbatted at his foot and he shooed the little menace away, earning him a glarefrom the brunette beauty on the floor.

“Don’t hurt him.” Gaby leveled a look at him, standing andmoving towards the kitchen, his eyes following her out of the room. Turning his glare back to the fluffy animal, he wassurprised to not see the black and white kitten. A sharp pain sank into his legand he cursed, leaning forward and looking down to see Stark making his way uphis pant leg.

Arms crossed over his chest, he watched with angry curiosityas the kitten finally made it to the peak of his knee. Its wide, bright eyeslooked up at the mountain of a man, walking along his thigh until he could bumphis furry head into a balled up fist.

Extending his fingers, Illya stroked a single digit againstthe soft fur on the kitten’s nose. A gentle purr emitting from the small body, hecontinued to climb bravely before settling against the man’s broad chest. Unsure what to do,the assassin sat back into the couch as he continued to frown at his new enemy.

The longer they sat, his glare began to fade, especially asStark pressed his head against his chin and rubbed. Lips pulling up at the corner, hetried to maintain his frustration, failing as the kitten continued to purr. Gaby came back, finding the pair andsettling against his side, her small fingers smoothing soft fur.

Cursing to himself, he wrapped an arm over her small shoulderand let out a breath. He couldn’t get rid of the kitten, not with how happy theannoying little fluff made her. Even if she ignored him all day, he would haveto learn to deal with Stark, who was somewhat cute asleep on his chest.  The thought made him roll his eyes, softeningalready to the kittens charms.

Damn it.

[matriarchcomputer]

Hey, I saw that ImagineGallya has 5 mods, I was wondering how many writer mods you have?

Just one; it’s just me. I almost applied to be part of their awesome team, but I at the time had all ready committed to finishing the prompts I had been sent.

@imaginegallya has a great team of writers and the fics of theirs that I have had the opportunity to read are really great! I recommend following them if you haven’t all ready done so :)

[imaginegallya]

Imagine prompt: Illya teaching Gaby self-defense and they get way too close on the mats.

Illya’s back hits the mat and he grunts with the impact. Gaby pins his wrists down near his head and grins down at him like she just won the world’s most expensive and pristine vehicle.

“Russian down,” she says proudly, not moving from his spot, her knees digging into the mat on either side of his ribs. She’s small enough where she really has to lean to keep his wrists pinned, leaving them remarkably close.

Illya can smell her shampoo, loose pieces of her hair falling all around her face. She hadn’t bothered to hold it all back under a bandana today like she normally did when they were training in self-defense. Her cheeks are flushed from the exertion and her breathing is visible, chest expanding with each intake.

She is beautiful.

Then again, she is always beautiful, even when she is drunk and outrageous, which happens more than Gaby would care to admit.

“You could do better,” Illya says, not willing to give her an inch until she perfected the moves he was introducing her to. This is all to help her survive, he isn’t about to skimp on her lessons just because his mind is thinking of other things not typically suited for the makeshift gym they set up in the villas that Waverly set up U.N.C.L.E. in.

Gaby’s smirk changed to an unsatisfied frown. “I have you pinned.”

“Yes.”

“What more is needed?”

“I can easily break from this,” Illya explains. “When you get someone down like this, be careful, they may roll. You should try to place your knee in softer place.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Gaby says, her shoulders relaxing slightly. It had taken time and plenty of drunken fights for Gaby to begin getting over her anger at the world, at the Russians, at Illya for being Russian even though he couldn’t help it. Many times she was drunk and did little damage to him, but occasionally she had bruised him. She doesn’t want to do that here.

“What if I was your enemy?”

“You are not.” Gaby releases her hold on his wrists, sliding down until she’s resting on her elbows, their noses a millimeter apart.

It takes all of Illya’s power not to move his hands to her waist, recreating that scene from the bedroom back in Rome. “I could be. In future,” he says, his voice grown significantly softer.

Gaby smiles softly, tilting her head ever so slightly to the left. “That is the future.”

Illya’s hands find her waist and her hips and Gaby’s lips find his lips; the future, whatever battles they must fight, are forgotten until tomorrow.

[imaginegallya]

In which Gaby blurts out 'I love you'. Bonus points if Napoleon takes that as his cue to leave. Please and thank you!

The three spies came into the hotel bickering, talking over one another about the mistakes of the plan tonight, each of them blaming the other. They had already started the day in a sour mood with last minute changes via Waverly, and the mission had not gone smoothly.

They continued to argue as they walked up the stairs, not worrying about the other guests that they were bothering as they did so. Napoleon was blaming Gaby for breaking character, Illya was blaming SOlo for going too far off the original plan, and Gaby was blaming both of them for the gunshots and close graze that Illya had gotten to his upper arm.

They stormed into Gaby and Illya’s shared room (once again they were under cover as a couple; most of the time they were paired together, but sometimes she was with Solo) still arguing. Solo slipped off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. Gaby kicked off her heels, watching Illya with hawk eyes as he stiffly removed his jacket and then the turtleneck underneath.

Gaby sucked in a short breath at his bare skin. Broad shoulders, ropes of muscles beneath to be seen as he moved. A surprisingly number of dark freckles splattered across his lightly tanned skin. And there, on his upper right arm, a nasty red wound, not too deep, but obviously painful.

“This?” Gaby said over the two of them, stomping her foot and waving a hand at Illya, “is the sort of mistake we are not meant to make.”

She tugged his wrist and forced him with pokes and prods to sit on the lounge couch so she could reach his shoulder. Napoleon had already placed a first aid kit on the table next to the lamp.

“I am fine,” Illya growled, eyeing Napoleon. “It is his fault.”

“Me?” Solo was definitely offended. “It wasn’t me that yelled and alerted the patrolman, Gaby.”

Gaby huffed and pushed Illya down again when he tried to stand to defend her.

“There was a gun, what was I supposed to do?” she said, angrily opening the kit and searching through it with more fervor than necessary.

“Faint like a normal ballerina who isn’t a spy,” Napoleon snipped.

Gaby grabbed a bottle and some gauze and pursed her lips. Solo still hadn’t gotten over the fact that she wasn’t someone he had to save, but that she was an actual spy. She thought that it was because he was still sore over the fact that she had fooled him during their first mission together.

“I blame you, not Gaby,” Illya said again, not even flinching as Gaby started to clean his wound.

“I blame you both,” Gaby said, pressing a little harder than needed. It made Illya look at her, his expression changing slightly from anger and blame to confusion and empathy. “Any of us could have been shot fatally. We’re lucky that this is just a graze.”

“We would not have been shot fatally,” Illya said, trying to reassure her. They all knew it was a lie. They were spies, there was always a possibility that something would go wrong and they could be killed. That’s just how the world worked.

There was a loud ripping of tape as Gaby pressed gauze against his shoulder and pressed tape around the edges to keep it attached. “And what would we have done if you were shot badly? This could have hit a main artery in your arm. You could have been seriously hurt.” She clenched her jaw and looked down at her red tinged fingertips.

“I told you that I will be fine,” Illya said, his voice softer this time.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, not looking at him or Solo. “What happens if next time you aren’t fine? What am I to do then? I love you.”

The words slipped out and everyone in the room froze. Gaby was turned away from Illya already; her eyes grew wide at the realization of what she said. Illya had tilted his head back and was looking up at her, his expression hardly changing despite the weight of the words. Solo was the first to move, glancing between the German and the Russian before he cleared his throat and took his coat off of the back of the chair.

“I believe that is my cue to leave,” he said as he walked out of the room, leaving the two of them with nothing but a soft click of the door closing.

As soon as the door closed, Gaby took in a sharp breath and moved away, pressing his lips together into a straight line as she snapped the first aid kit shut.

“Gaby,” Illya said finally, standing as she moved swiftly away, whisking the kit into the ornate bathroom. His voice was soft and caring and kind in the way that she only ever heard him talk to her.

“Illya,” Gaby said flatly, her voice tight and thin. She crouched down and put the kit under the sink so it was hidden away and threw away the bloody cotton. The tap ran cold over her fingers but warmed as she scrubbed them with soap.

They often roomed together for their cover. It was no mystery to anyone involved in U.N.C.L.E. that the two of them were toeing the professional and personal line. Their first mission had been wrought with tensions; jealousy, anger, ferocity that both of them were used to feeling but in a negative way not this positive way. When they held hands or Illya offered her his arm when they walked, it felt natural not only for their covers, but for them. Was it really them, or was it their cover stories that were in love and on a honeymoon, or engaged and traveling Asia before the wedding? It was hard for even them to tell most of the time.

“What you said…” Illya was standing in the doorway, shirtless and bandaged and making himself as small as possible because the last thing he wanted to do was be intimidating right now.

“I mean it,” Gaby said. She twisted off the taps and grabbed the towel from the ring next to the wide mirror. She took one deep breath before turning to face him, squeezing the towel between her hands. “I…did not mean for it to be said in such a way.”

Gaby was not naïve. She wasn’t expecting anything to be romantic and easy between the two of them. She wasn’t expecting to have long, drawn out conversations about their emotions late into the night. They were a prickly pair, both caring too much about the people around them, but being unschooled in the ways of showing it properly. So they bickered softly, they exchanged longing looks and occasionally their lips would get a hairsbreadth away before someone or something interrupted them.

And somehow, in the mix of traveling the world as spies, putting their lives on the line, they had fallen in love. Gaby had just been the first one to say it.

“I would expect it no other way,” Illya said, the corners of his mouth moving up ever so slightly.

Gaby put the towel on the sink and looked up at him. Her makeup was smudged around her eyes, her hair had lost its body and shape and her dress was tight and uncomfortable. She wanted nothing but to get into her pajamas and collapse into bed. Only this time, she boldly wanted Illya next to her. “You could have died,” she repeated the same thing she’d been arguing about for the last hour. “Any of us can die on any mission if one of us does something wrong. But I…”

Illya stepped forward, gently stretching out his hand and spreading his fingers across her cheek and into her hair. “I understand.” He used his free hand to lift her tiny fingers and press her palm against his chest. It was one of the most intimate things that they’d done. “You are here, for me. Always.”

Gaby blinked, her stomach momentarily fluttering. She almost didn’t like the feeling; it was too overwhelming. She swallowed and nodded, stepping a tiny bit closer. “Ich liebe dich.”

“Я люблю тебя.”

[imaginegallya]

"Goodbye until tomorrow," says Gaby/Illya. That same night, one of them was killed in action. P.s. I'm so sorry for submitting this prompt, I'm tearing up just thinking about it already.

The room is cold and dark. There are numerous lamps around, but none of them are turned on. The door to the balcony is ajar, letting in the quiet, muffled sounds of the city beneath. It is a tranquil scene.

The door opening sheds light in the room. Heavy footfalls stop outside. A young woman’s hand clutches the door handle until her knuckles creak.

“Gaby,” Napoloen says softly from the hall, taking a tentative step toward her.

Gaby flinches and he steps back. “I…I just need some time,” she says, her voice stronger than she feels.

He pauses, though he can’t see her face. “I’m just in the next room,” he says, shoulders hunched, having lost his usual posh posture.

Gaby stays in the doorway until she hears his door click shut down the hall. She moves slowly like she’s struggling through quicksand. She closes the door and leans back against it until it is completely shut. Her hand moves for the lock, which she twists to the side. Without speaking, barely breathing, she pulls off her shoes and lets them stay on the floor there in front of the door.

She straightens her back then, pulling her hair out of its pins and letting it fall, a release of pressure on her scalp. That’s all it took, that pressure to be cut off, for everything to come rushing back.

Sixteen hours ago, when Illya was leaving to pursue his portion of the mission on his own, ahead of Gaby and Napoleon’s cover identities, he had caught her alone for a few moments. His hands, rough like hers, but much larger and more powerful, slid down her arms to her own hands, their fingers fitting together like nuts and bolts.

Gaby had tilted her head back, determined not to worry. “If you meet another girl, remember that I have been trained how to kill someone,” she said with a smirk. He, in fact, had been doing most of that training lately.

He smiled at her resilience and glanced over his shoulder before turning back to her. He didn’t have to tell her that she was the only one, that any flirtation on any mission was not to make her jealous—it was acting and it was her that he wanted to come back to, even if it was against protocol.

“Goodbye until tomorrow,” he told her instead. She stared at him before rolling her eyes and quickly kissing him while Napoleon’s back was turned. He squeezed her hands and left after patting Solo on the shoulder. Gaby watched him leave, already planning their reunion. Maybe she would finally get him to drink with her.

“Goodbye until tomorrow,” Gaby whispers into the dark room. Her vision swims and her throat burns. Her legs start to grow numb and she slides down the door ungracefully. She blinks, a few warm tears rolling down her cheeks. She stares at the back of the couch that she can just barely make out in the moonlight.

“It is tomorrow now, Illya,” she says, sniffing as her throat constricts and her chest grows tight. Her hand falls to her side, onto her shoe. Without thinking, she throws it across the room as hard as she can. It hits one of the lamps with just enough force to knock it off the table. It shatters against the wood floor.

Gaby pulls her legs toward her chest and clasps her arms around them tightly. She squeezes her eyes shut and rests her forehead against her knees. “It is tomorrow, where are you?” she whispers, the last word ruined with a stifled sob. It takes seconds for them to overcome her entire body. She has to let go of her knees and presses her hands to her face, letting out her grief.

The dark room surrounds her like a blanket, hiding her uncharacteristic display of emotion from the world. She thanks the darkness. She doesn’t want to think about turning on the light and not seeing Illya there, shaking his head at the mess of the broken lamp, calling her his tiny fighting star in Russian, and carrying her to bed. Her heart will not be able to handle the pain of turning on the lights and finding herself alone.

[imaginegallya]

Prompt: The first time Illya grabs Gaby's hand and doesn't let go.

It’s late and dark and the rain has been coming down in waves for hours. Everything is in a haze, the streetlights look like floating fairies and the moon has been hidden by clouds since yesterday. No matter how much Gaby protests about leaving the warmth of the hotel, Illya is not going to let them miss the party their covers were attending. It would cause too much of a stir, and they wanted to blend in, not stand out.

“Come,” Illya says, collar up around his neck, hat pulled over his hair. In his hand is an umbrella, primed to be popped open as soon as they step out from under the hotel awning.

Gaby makes a face and begins to button her overcoat as slowly as she can. Her feet are encased in heals that are higher than she’s accustomed and she already dreads getting them and her bare legs wet. “Let me finish,” she says, pushing the last button through and tying the jacket around her waist. Slender fingers reach for her navy colored hat on the coffee table. She pulls it onto her head, resting it carefully around the hair piled with pins and hairspray.

She hovers and catches Illya’s foot tapping out of the corner of her eye. She hides a smirk as he then looks at his watch.

“We are going to be late,” he says, he voice a little more on edge.

Gaby situates her hat and spins to faces him. “I’m ready,” she says in a tone that suggests that she had been waiting for him and not the other way around.

“Good.” He steps toward the door and she steps toward him only to stop with a little gasp.

Illya let out a small groan as she bolted through the parlor to the bedroom to retrieve a small clutch, which she tucked into the large coat pocket. Before she could say anything else, Illya grabs her hand and pulls her through the door after him.

His hand is large, much larger than her own, and only slightly more calloused than her own working hands. She feels much like a child at first, as he stays a step in front of her to walk down the stairs, their arms jerking uneasily with their mismatched height and Gaby’s slow steps in her new shoes. She follows obediently, her mouth pinched into a look that does not show any hint of enjoyment.

He let go of her hand just long enough to pop open the umbrella once they were outside. She expects him to then walk along beside her, her hand in the crook of his arm like they casually did whenever they were under cover as a couple. Only this time, his hand finds hers again and Gaby is tugged forward a step before she is able to keep up with his pace. He walks slowly enough for her not to fall behind, though she can feel the dampness on her legs as they walk. The umbrella is almost too high to block much drizzle for Gaby, but Illya leans down slightly so she doesn’t end up completely wet.

The party is close enough to the hotel—just around the block and across the street—that a car was unwarranted. Gaby keeps her arm stiff and slightly bent as to not pull down Illya’s shoulder. Neither of them say anything about their hands, each palm warming to the touch of the other. By the time they’re paused at the edge of the road to cross, it’s all Gaby can think about. It isn’t like they’ve never held hands before, but this felt much more like it was Illya the spy holding her hand and less Illya her undercover fiancé.

By the time they reach the entrance of the theater, Gaby doesn’t want to let go and lets out a small sigh of discontent as their wet things are taken—coats, hats, umbrella—leaving Gaby in a knee-length dark green dress and Illya in a navy suit and properly knotted bowtie. Napoleon is somewhere in the midst of all of the crowd but Gaby isn’t even thinking about that. Her sulking about the weather has grown into sulking about the loss of Illya’s hand in her own.

She frowns into the gallery of people and clasps her hands in front of her, her clutch tucked under her right arm.

“I am sorry about your shoes,” Illya says, moving next to her quietly. It still surprises her how quiet he can move for such a tall man.

“That is not why I’m frowning,” Gaby replies, trying to smooth out the wrinkle between her brows. She catches a flash of Napoleon’s million-dollar smile in the crowd and takes a step forward.

“Perhaps this will help.” Illya steps with her, his fingers sliding over her own, easily pulling her hands apart and holding onto her left.

The chill from the rain lifts off of her almost instantly and she glances up at him with a more relaxed and unguarded expression than she’d been producing all evening.

There is a twitch of his eyebrow and his lips, some sort of clue into what he is thinking, before he simply steps forward and she falls into step next to him, telling herself that the red rising to her cheeks was from the excitement of a new step forward in the job and not because of the hand she was holding.

[imaginegallya]

ImagineGallya - Help Wanted

Hey everyone! 

As you can see, prompts are starting to flow in and Imagine Gallya would love to possibly take in a fourth admin/writer for the blog to assist in answering prompts to help keep us active. We may select more mods based off of the responses we get in the applications. We are seeking dedicated writers who are willing to answer prompts in a timely manner.

If you’re interested in joining the Imagine Gallya team we would love for you to fill out this [FORM]. 

Any new mods will be selected on November 10th. If you’re not interested in joining the team but still would like to help out, please reblog this form and help signal boost. We would love for this blog to stay active and friendly. Thank you for all your help and if you have any inquiries, please do not hesitate to ask. For the final question on the application the prompts are listed below the cut:

Prompt #1 - Imagine Gaby learning Russian in private from Illya. 

Prompt #2 - Imagine Illya picking Gaby up out of danger’s way.

Prompt #3 - Imagine Gaby changing a tire while Illya holds the car up.

Prompt #4 - Imagine Illya and Gaby on a stakeout.

Prompt #5 - Imagine Gaby and Illya saving Napoleon.

[imaginegallya]

200 Followers!

First of all thank you! Thank you all so very much for your support and continuing prompts. We here at Imagine Gallya  feel very honored that you all follow and support us! We are working on all current prompts and hope to have some up and posted soon. Please continue to send us your prompts and ideas, all your support and contributions is more than we could have ever asked for.

Thank you again. -The Staff