Concept: I marry a handsome Irish farmer and live in the countryside or maybe even the seaside in a small cottage with sheep and cows and chickens. I’ll take care of the little lambs and calfs and chicks. Our cottage will be charming and beautiful. We’ll take care of each other and live simply, content in our deep love.
Can you do the man from uncle about the reader and soft Russian giant fluff?
“He’s not back yet is he,” you asked Gabby as she helped you into the house you were all staying in.
“He’s not back, yet,” she said regarding your boyfriend, Illya, “Napoleon’s status was that they were trailing us by 5 minutes so he’ll be home soon.” You let out a loud sigh. While you and Gabby were out on your part of the mission you were taking out a couple assailants and wound up having a bullet skim, and enter a little into, your calf. You knew Illya wasn’t going to be thrilled about it and had 5…now 4…minutes to stitch up your leg before he would see.
You told Gabby you were ok and hopped your way into the bathroom and onto the countertop. You were just about to turn the water on when you heard the front door open. “Crap,” you mutter to yourself. “Y/N,” you heard Illya call your name and footsteps approaching the bathroom door. “Y/N,” he knocked on the door and slowly opened it.
“Illya,” you yelled trying to stop him; it didn’t work, “I could have been using the bathroom!”
“You could have,” he agreed. “But I saw the little trail of blood you left and figured you were doing something else in here.” He walked his way over to you and grabbed your leg to take a look at it. “How did this happen,” his voice was stern now that he saw the extent of your injury.
“Illya, I’m fine,” you used a calm voice to try and relax the clenched fist at his side.
You sighed, “I was taking on three men and there was one who still had their gun. I went to kick it out of his hand just as he shot it and it ended up hitting my calf. It’s not that bad though,” you tried to get him to think positively. “It barely entered my calf at all; it’s more like a flesh wound.” He didn’t say anything as he started cleaning the tear in your leg out. “Illya?”
“Yes?” He was very cut and dry.
“How did your part do over?”
“How did Napoleon act,” you reached.
“Fine.” You dropped the effort as he grabbed the needle and started stitching up your calf. He remained stiff and silent during the whole process. He was picking things up from the counter when you decided to try again to get something out of him. “Ill? Are you mad at me?” When your sad voice reached his ears you saw his stiff demeanor drop.
“Not at all,” he walked over and kneeled by you on the counter. “I was worried. That is all. I do not know what to do without you Y/N.”
“Illya,” you smiled, “I’m one of the best agents in the CIA. I can handle myself.”
“But look at your leg.”
“Accidents happen,” you held his hand in yours. “I’m alive still, right? I may not be in one piece but I’m here.”
“That you are my dear.” You went to stand up but were stopped by a two large hands making you sit back down on the counter. “You are here and you are injured, so,” he picked you up in his arms, “you will rest until next mission.”
“Ill!” You laughed. “I can walk.”
“You can but you will not. You will lay in bed and listen to radio with me.”
“Finally,” you heard Solo say, “they’ve learned how to get a room.”