#littlechopshxp

[russiasredperil]

[ @littlechopshxp ] [Cont. from X]

“Is getting dark,” he says, and while this is a mere observation it’s also meant as a plea without having to actually ask for anything. It means he would like for her to come inside, but more than that, it’s a subtle (or none too subtle, if one knows him well enough to tell the difference) indication that he would prefer not to eat alone. 

“You left plenty for two.” Not that he couldn’t eat it all himself, of course. Perhaps that was even her intention.

[russiasredperil]

[ @littlechopshxp ] [Cont. from Bruises? meme]

Illya really ought to know better; he should understand that after what she has been through, the last thing Gaby needs is a show of aggression, especially if it could in any way be mistakenly perceived as aimed her way. But he can’t help the way he stomps in, letting the door swing so violently behind him that it nearly hits the wall. He can’t help the fury written all over his face, or the way he reaches for her, grasping her chin firmly between thumb and fingers and all but forcing her to reveal herself to him.

He stares. 

He stares, and he takes in the damage that has been done to her lovely face. The split in her lip still looks fresh, and he imagines when she runs her tongue over it, Gaby still tastes copper. The mottled colors on her face are dark enough to defy the makeup she has been so desperately attempting to cover them up with, and Illya’s eyes roam, as if wanting to be absolute sure he captures every detail. 

“You are through with this mission,” he says quietly, tightly, venom in his tone and fire in his veins. If only he had been there. If he had been close by, instead of at too much of a distance listening in. Gaby had escaped before he or Napoleon could manage to run interference, and she’d successfully avoided them both until now, begging a moment to herself before she would be badgered into giving her first-hand account.

His grip softens almost immediately after he speaks, and he lets go as if ashamed to have shown this force to her in the first place. It is not her fault, and it is not her who has made his blood boil, or made him see red. Illya knows faces and he knows names, and when he is through, Gaby will look untouched and pristine by comparison. 

[russiasredperil]

That Student AU // closed

[ @littlechopshxp ] 

This feels like it has been a long time in coming.

Months of preparation, meticulous organization in terms of packing and making arrangements from abroad, and finally days of travel when the calendar had finally yielded to him; the date he’d been waiting for finally come, ushering in adventure and opportunity. The past two days have seen him in and out of airports, sleeping in cramped plane seats and browsing in terminal shops. But mostly waiting, often in lines, other times in whatever seat he could claim among the throngs of other travelers. 

Illya has come a long way for this, but by the time he finally arrives at his destination, he’s nearly dead on his feet. Two layovers, a train ride and finally a cab, and he’s been left on the curb with more luggage than he can comfortably deal with on his own. He manages, of course - because it’s what he does, he manages - and through trial and error he tracks down the building his dorm room is supposed to be in. 

There’s someone to greet him, of course, and people to exclaim over how ragged he looks, how exhausted he must be from so much traveling, and here, set those bags down. They’re friendly faces for the most part, though reactions are mixed, and people tend to be either intimidated by him or very, very interested. He’s a more intriguing specimen still when others hear him speak, but fortunately for him, everyone he meets seems to have someplace they need to be. 

At long last, when the sky is starting to streak with the purples of dusk, he ambles to the end of a rather long hall, observing the row of doors and checking, double-checking the numbers with the one he’s been given. The door he finds at the end of the line is open, and he’s only too glad to take advantage of this, hauling his burden along with him and dropping it with an air of finality just inside the threshold. A part of him had hoped maybe his roommate would not be in when he arrived, but there’s music on, and the sounds of rummaging. 

[russiasredperil]

Hands. Eyes. Eyelashes. Smile. Jaw. Frame. --every freaking thing.

Gaby = soft

[russiasredperil]

💖 - its not often you reblog a meme, therefore you get a meme

6. Timer: A timer on each person’s wrist counts down to the moment they will meet. Either this is with them from the moment they were born or they can choose to get one around the age of 13, it’s up to the writers.

This is a wildly inopportune time, and Illya is trying his best to avoid letting it distract him. His timer is getting low, and he spares a quick glance at it while he slouches against the spot he has chosen, newspaper in hand, cap pulled down low over his eyes. The American has made it to Checkpoint Charlie, and while he has most certainly grown aware of his tail, he is none the wiser to the tracker that has been placed in his luggage.

Not now, he thinks. So much time poured into this mission; diligent surveillance and careful tracking has brought them here, and soon this man will attempt to steal the mark right out from under his nose. And he is to encounter his soul mate? Here, in East Berlin? 

He’s spared having to consider it for another moment; the American is on the move, and Illya gives the signal to follow.

—

At the end of his failed operation, Illya is left standing in a minefield surrounded by high walls topped with barbed wire, and is thankful that, at least, the person he is destined to be with had not been around to witness such a humiliating display. That night as he regroups, alone, he stares at the numbers on his wrist as they continue to tick down, until he grows drowsy.

The next day is no better. Illya knows that being on the lookout is pointless; the timer will run out at the moment of his meeting with his soul mate, and all he need do is continue on with his life until that moment arrives. Fate seems to enjoy playing cruel jokes on him, however, and when he’s left panting on the floor of a men’s rest room he has just destroyed with news of some fresh hell, he gives Napoleon Solo a rough shove and gets to his feet, holding onto what remains of his dignity and trying desperately to keep his head in the game. 

—

Illya is nearly late for his meeting, and admittedly, it is mostly because he is loathe to go. But he has been briefed extensively on how he is to proceed, and he arrives at the charming little boutique wearing his best jacket. First impressions are not always everything, but they can sometimes smooth the way. Once he has finished checking in with the American and the girl, his life will change in another way. 

He’s taken to checking his timer the way he would his watch.

“I’m not going back behind that wall,” she tells her companion, agitated, “And when this is over, that’s what they’ll want.”

It isn’t until he’s looming behind her, waiting for his moment to make a proper introduction, that he realizes. For a long moment he can do nothing but stare at her back, the words he’d meant to speak stalling on his tongue. But speak he does, and when she turns around, there is shock and confusion in her eyes.

His timer runs out - he knows this without having to look - and what transpires is barely an echoing din in his ears. Because I am now your fiance, is a line delivered flat and without finesse, and when Gaby storms out of the shop, he remains right where he is, stock-still, hands behind his back as though he is either unable or afraid to move.

[russiasredperil]

A text to Illya asking him to stop by the cafe and bring her a wrap for dinner was all the time she really needed. She'd spent most of the afternoon working on the little prank for him, which included short sheeting his bed and covering his desk and surrounding his bed with cups half filled with water as a prank. Innocent really, silly and fun. A text informing her that he was on her way was all it took to spur her into last minute action before sprawling out on her bed to watch as he came in

Illya doesn’t look at all impressed when he opens the door and walks into this. He’d seen evidence of similar antics outside, all throughout campus, and had nearly had to dive into some bushes to avoid a small group of students with water pistols assaulting each other near the path leading back up to their building. The pistols, so far as he could discern, had not been filled with water.

“Of course,” he says dryly, eyeing Gaby as she sprawls across her bed looking quite pleased with herself. “It was ruse, then,” he adds, holding the bag up with her wrap in it. 

[russiasredperil]

Gaby scoured the shops for months, in search of a chess board identical to Illya's. As luck would have it, she found one only a few days before and while he was downstairs retrieving something she asked, she swapped the boards. She'd taken the time to super glue each piece down, careful to not give it away, and carefully carried his board with pieces still in tact, to hide it under her bed. A simple, yet innocent, april fool's prank.

Gaby doesn’t appear to be around when he returns with the item she had requested, footfalls heavy on the staircase. He sets it down for her to retrieve when she does decided to re-emerge from wherever she’s gone, and returns to his game. It’s a long moment of still silence as he sits there, surveying the board, trying to recall what he’d done last and what he had intended to do next; he doesn’t like being interrupted when he is in the middle of a game, but he’d known she would only huff at him and perhaps even come to interrupt him personally if she hadn’t done as she’d asked. 

His eyes widen when first he touches a piece. It doesn’t move, and there’s a moment during which he simply sits there, staring at the board with his fingers clutching the top of a piece, trying to understand what it is that is happening. He blinks, at last, and tries again with a black knight he’d intended to move three moves down the line, and it, too, is stuck fast to the board. 

Illya runs a hand over his mouth, still trying to understand, and slowly leans over to investigate the board itself. Upon first glance it had seemed identical to his, but there’s a deep scuff on the original that had been made months ago when it had fallen out of his unzipped bag and scattered its contents all over the hardwood flooring. 

“Gaby!”

[russiasredperil]

echoes (or: the ghost of you)

@littlechopshxp

It was always going to happen this way.

There are no happy endings when one is brought up on sacrifice; no light at the end of the tunnel when nothing, no one truly belongs to you, not even your own flesh and blood. Illya had been prepared to die for a cause not his own since he’d been young, and frankly, he has been shocked more than once to find himself still alive and kicking after ordeals that should have easily put him in the ground. Each birthday a pleasant and unexpected surprise, more borrowed time.

He’s alone. 

He’s alone, and Gaby is on her own, someplace he will never be able to reach. He’d promised her that he would do anything within his power to protect her, always, whether she resented the implications of such a promise or not. Nothing but rage and spite had fueled him this far, but his tank is running on empty. So, too, does his body, as blood loss begins to take a toll on his ability to function. There’s a scarlet trail marring the landscape; evidence he had kept going until he’d been physically incapable of pressing on. Proof he had fought to the last. That he had tried.

But trying isn’t enough, and it’s one of the last thoughts he is conscious of. He’d always thought he would find a strange sort of peace in death, a resolution of sorts. That he would go with a triumphant smile on his face, knowing he had done well and earned his rest. What he hadn’t been prepared for were the complications of connections he never thought he would make, or how final thoughts of them would ache so badly. 

But there is no fear. Never that.

It’s too late when they finally find him. The extraction team is left to clean up the mess, to bundle Illya’s body away as though there were still something there worth breaking, and to report back with the unfortunate news. A somber reality; a casualty of what otherwise turns out to be a successful mission