An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Eyy I don’t listen to my own advice and posted a wip. I just needed to get something going while I finish the last chapters of the Drowning Deep prequel, and this is what my brain wanted me to do!
Hope yall want to join me in this lil thing, while I use your interaction to fill up the prequel’s motivation fund once more!
@theheirofashandfire @peskyheathen
If you want me to tag you or not tag you when i post somethin let me know
Tags: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Ice Hockey AU, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Recovery, Hockey Media
Summary:
With a few sentences, Napoleon Solo created the ice-hockey rivalry of the ages. Illya Kuryakin loathes him, but honestly, he's got good reason too. The crowd likes it, the media is in raptures, it brings some fire to the ice. It's fine.
Until, suddenly, it isn't.
One night, one conversation. Maybe it hadn't been that sudden after all.
This has been a long time coming. Oh god, he should have seen it coming.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
New chapter is up!
Chapters: 4/?
Fandom: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Additional Tags: Napoleon Solo/Original Male Characters, (past and referenced), Napoleon/Victoria, but not really in a ship way, more in a background or plot to this story way, Pining, Missing Scenes, Regret, Heartbreak, Angst, Heavy Angst, Mental Health Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Past Child Abuse, Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Borderline Alcoholism, lying, learning to be better, Eventual Happy Ending, Original Female Character/Original Female Character - Freeform, A ton of OC's - Freeform, friendships, Forgiveness, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Backstory, Internal Monologue, Moments of good feels too, Prequel, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Unreliable Narrator, Napoleon is a bit not good
Series: Part 2 of Tidal Waves
Summary:
This is a story set after Napoleon leaves Russia behind, destroying what might have been the most meaningful relationship he's ever had. This is a story about regret, consequences, and finding oneself. This is Napoleon learning to be a better person, and realising he deserves a better life, no matter the mistakes he made.
Sadly, that lesson takes a long time to learn.
-----
“Garcia,” Napoleon says, his lips numb and uncooperative. “Don’t be like me.”
Garcia huffs, barely audible over the music. “Not planning on it.”
Napoleon shakes his head and has to hold on to the bar-top from the dizziness the movement causes. “No, I mean—“ he tugs at her wrist and points it towards James. “I— I fucked up— my one chance to be happy. Don’t be like me. Don’t wait.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Second chapter is up!
Chapters: 2/?
Fandom: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Additional Tags: Napoleon Solo/Original Male Characters, (past and referenced), Napoleon/Victoria, but not really in a ship way, more in a background or plot to this story way, Pining, Missing Scenes, Regret, Heartbreak, Angst, Heavy Angst, Mental Health Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Past Child Abuse, Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Borderline Alcoholism, lying, learning to be better, Eventual Happy Ending, Original Female Character/Original Female Character - Freeform, A ton of OC's - Freeform, friendships, Forgiveness, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Backstory, Internal Monologue, Moments of good feels too, Prequel, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion
Series: Part 2 of Tidal Waves
Summary:
This is a story set after Napoleon leaves Russia behind, destroying what might have been the most meaningful relationship he's ever had. This is a story about regret, consequences, and finding oneself. This is Napoleon learning to be a better person, and realising he deserves a better life, no matter the mistakes he made.
Sadly, that lesson takes a long time to learn.
-----
“Garcia,” Napoleon says, his lips numb and uncooperative. “Don’t be like me.”
Garcia huffs, barely audible over the music. “Not planning on it.”
Napoleon shakes his head and has to hold on to the bar-top from the dizziness the movement causes. “No, I mean—“ he tugs at her wrist and points it towards James. “I— I fucked up— my one chance to be happy. Don’t be like me. Don’t wait.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Third chapter is posted!
Hope yall like it :D
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Additional Tags: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Ice Hockey AU, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Recovery, Hockey Media, Falling In Love, Pining, Friends to Lovers, Therapy, Loneliness, Friendship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tropes, So many tropes, I'm just having fun
Falling in love with a rival captain really isn't a problem until he decides to join your team.
Napollya prompt: "I burned so long and so quiet, you must have wondered if I loved you back. I did, I did, I do." Bring on the angst!
Okay so I’m really bad with prompts because my muse is a fickle thing and usually ideas are beamed into my brain at 3am and no other are accepted. But this one actually Did the Thing so here you go. Beta’ed by the amazing @theheirofashandfire
Illya gets the phone call late at night. His hands start shaking the moment he hears Oleg’s voice.
“Yes, sir,” Illya says as barbed wire starts to wrap around his throat. “When do I leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
In the end, it’s one word that shatters Illya’s heart in pieces, only one that brings him to his knees the moment the phone clicks off. Just one word that breaks the fragile happiness Illya had been building, and it wasn’t even said by the one holding all of it in his hands.
Illya knows it’s a mistake, but he goes to Napoleon’s room, his body harsh lines and confidence, while his mind is crawling, desperate for an embrace that isn’t the last, a night that isn’t the end.
Illya knows that he’s making a mistake as Napoleon greets him with a slow smile, closes the door behind him, and draws him into a kiss. Illya tries not to make it feel like a goodbye, tries to hide his greedy touches in rough pushes, his deep kisses in heavy moans. But the hunger of his heart spills over and he can’t help but cherish Napoleon’s skin under his hands, trace the edges of his smile, and push in slowly, too gently, Napoleon’s body pliant and lose. Illya knows he’s taking too much, giving too much, and Napoleon replies in kind.
Illya can’t bring it in himself to feel guilty, because this is the last time.
They sleep, later, arms wrapped and legs tangled.
They wake, later, soft eyes in morning light.
Napoleon trails his fingers through Illya’s hair, and each stroke is like needles sliding up his spine. Illya wants to smile, but the barbed wire has reached his face by now, and he can’t anymore. He’s lost the ability too.
Napoleon leans over, places a kiss too gentle on wire-cut lips, and says, “I love you,” the same way he would have said good morning any other day.
The barbed wire sinks deeper into Illya’s skin, choking him, the last fragments of his heart slam forward into his chest and for a moment Illya thinks Napoleon can see them, the jagged pieces between his ribs. But there is nothing, only the feeling, and the simple silence stretching between them. The absence of words.
Napoleon’s fingers still, frozen, and disappear. Illya sees his expression shut down, his eyes close, smile gone.
Illya pulls away, a riptide of pain in one movement; it leaves him almost breathless, almost unable to be. His body is a collection of ice shards, spilling over the floor as Napoleon takes the last of his heat away.
“Peril—“ Napoleon’s voice, so broken, so frail. So hard trying not to be.
Illya had known it had been a mistake to come here. He did it anyway.
He slides away from Napoleon, sits on the edge of the bed, arms on his knees and back turned. His hands grasp around themselves, already feeling the void of what should have been. He squeezes them together, bones grating, and speaks the pain of his flesh. “I’m leaving today.”
Another silence, now behind him; a quiet that started with a phone call and ended with a selfish mistake.
“The KGB ordered me to come home,” Illya says, monotone. “I’m going home.”
Napoleon says nothing.
Illya leaves the room.
——
The train will come in ten minutes. Time steals the last moments of Illya’s life in neat, merciless, increments. He breathes. There is nothing he can do to stop it. He’s never felt this powerless.
Gaby stands off to the side of the platform, a coffee cup in her hands, giving them a moment neither of them asked for, a shield neither of them want.
Illya’s knuckles turn white around the handle of his luggage, its pull heavy and constant like a ball and chain. Napoleon is standing a mere meter beside him, but it already feels like ages. As if time measures distance falsely: there is a universe of regret between them, their touch lightyears away.
On the minute mark, Napoleon steps forward, bridges their blackhole with impersonal professionally. He holds out a hand for Illya to shake. Illya takes it, grasps it, desperate for even the smallest of scraps.
“It was a pleasure working with you, Kuryakin,” Napoleon says, all voiceless, all love-erased. Illya feels the heat of his hand and the ice in his words. It hurts more than anything.
The train sounds in the distance, its wheels screeching, its noise lumbering like a beast. And Illya tastes his fear on the back of his tongue, and goes selfish with it. He pulls Napoleon in, demands more for this final time. His last discretion.
Napoleon goes, collapses against him, the distance evaporates, as if it never existed in the first place. His arms go tight around Illya, and he’s murmuring, “Peril, Peril, Peril,” over and over, endless. Illya holds him close, takes more than he should, and he tries to steal the courage from Napoleon’s warmth to finally say the words.
Illya knows this is the moment to rectify his morning error, his inability to reply. It wouldn’t fix his failures, but it would save Napoleon from living in doubt, despite the pain of hearing it now. I love you, the words on the tip of his tongue for over five years, never spoken. I love you, the thought behind all his actions, all his touches, all their nights. I love you, a confession too late, a regret too great.
The train pulls to a stop, ready to consume him, and in the end Illya says;
“I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you.”
Napoleon draws back, eyes starlight bright, his face a galaxy of relief.
“Then don’t,” he tells Illya, too softly, too gently, “Then don’t.”
One word, the breaker of worlds, a scar in the ether, the original end.
Two words, spoken by the soul, a breath of possibility, a beginning.
They keep close, barbed wire left behind on the edge of the platform. They turn away from the consumer, return to their watcher; Gaby greets them with a smile.
Napoleon doesn’t let go. “We’re going on an unauthorised trip, Gabs. You in?”
Gaby grins wider. “I’ve got three plane tickets with our names on it.” She moves her gaze from their joined hands to Illya, looks him in the eye, fond.
